


I'm Not Red Riding Hood, But I Think the Wolf Has Got Me

by Utu



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Kinks, M/M, Masturbation, Omorashi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24790699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Utu/pseuds/Utu
Summary: “You better start liking this at some point, because no matter how much you struggle, you can’t make me stop. You can scream and bite and scratch all you want, but know this… Every time you harm me or refuse to obey me, you will be punished. You better start prayin’, boy, because this is as close to hell as you’ll ever get.”
Relationships: Jacob Seed/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. Bend Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right people. uploading this again, since it disappeared from ao3. i didn't delete this, and i'm sorry it took so damn long to put this back up here. i'm editing all the chapters, and making some adjusments/corrections. just to make things clearer etc.
> 
> and like always, check the tags, ty ty. i'll be adding them as i remember to, but y'all know what this mess of a fic contains.  
> also, this fic contains graphic depictions of rape, non-con, violence, and other nasty stuff. keep that in mind, folks.
> 
> song rec for this chapter: Bück Dich by Rammstein

Snowstorm was brewing just above the mountains, and thick, black clouds were gathering on the horizon. It was already negative ten degrees outside, and the wind was picking up, sweeping over the snow-covered mountains and carrying a bone-chilling temperature drop with it. Leslie smiled as he stared at the snow-covered scenery through the balcony door, tugging a stray piece of thread sticking from his jumper. He loved winter. He loved everything about it; the snow, the cold, the ice, the darkness and bleakness, and yes, even the hopelessness that sometimes accompanied the long, dark winter nights. Winter was his haven, his home. After all, he was born and raised in Whitehorse, Yukon.

It had been snowing non-stop for a week, and snow had been piling up on the veteran’s center’s yard. The sun was hanging low, partially hidden behind the sharp mountain tops, the last cold rays of the February evening quickly dissipating as the moon was beginning to spread a thick, black blanket over the Whitetail Mountains.

Leslie tried the balcony door, yanking it a couple of times, and weirdly enough, he felt disheartened that it was locked. He turned around and glanced around Jacob’s office, his instincts begging him to run, demanding him to do  _ something _ and not just stand and wait. But no matter what his instincts said, he couldn’t listen to them, not that there was anywhere to run even if he would've listened.

When the door finally swung open, Leslie bit back a shriek and straightened his back, preparing to meet his Herald. Jacob slammed the door shut and locked it, before turning around and folding his arms. He scanned the Chosen from head to toe, with a slight smirk on his face, as his eyes glided over his thighs and his sleek figure. For some reason, he seemed pleased, and an indecipherable feeling tugging the corners of his mouth as his eyes flicked upward.

“Leslie.” Spoken softly, almost lovingly — a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Leslie thought.

“Sir?” he asked, slightly tilting his head, desperate to hide his fear and confusion. He nervously flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, keeping his eyes fixed on his Herald. The silence stretched, and even though he grew more anxious with every passing second, he didn’t move a muscle. There was something ominous in the way Jacob looked at him; it was the same look wolves had when their eyes caught a prey. Hunger, death, and triumph all written across in his blue eyes.

“Undress,” Jacob ordered.

Leslie’s stomach dropped upon hearing the word. “What?” he asked as his stance faltered, fear bleeding through the cracks of his pitiful façade. He had to take a step back to keep himself upright, as his knees felt like they'd turned into pudding. When he had received word that Jacob wanted to see him in his office, he’d been scared, and nervous. There had been no discernible reason why he felt that way, so he’d brushed it off, dissing himself as paranoid, and stupid.

_ Undress.  _ It had to be a joke, right?

“I’m sorry,” Jacob said, his tone mockingly sweet, his eyes as cold as ice. “I said undress. You do know what the word means, don’t ya?”

“I do, but—”

“But what?” His tone grew dangerously sharp.

“Why?” Leslie asked, even though he knew asking wouldn’t change a thing. He was still convinced it was some sort of a cruel joke — a punishment for something he’d done, most likely, or for something he’d left undone. He knew far too well that he wasn't perfect by any means, and that way too often he made stupid mistakes. Maybe now Jacob had had enough of his bullshit?

“Because I tell you to,” the Herald said slowly and shook his head in disbelief. “And because you’re mine to do with as I please.” When Leslie didn’t react, and simply just stared at him with a puzzled expression on his face, Jacob sighed and walked up to him. “I have to do everything myself, it seems like,” he muttered, feigning exasperation.

Jacob stood still for a moment, as if he was contemplating for something, before he grabbed Leslie’s red woolen jumper from its hem and pulled it off, throwing it on the floor. The Chosen had a tight-fitting t-shirt under it, and in another place and time, he would've admired the view. But now he just pulled it off too, pleased that despite his initial reluctance, Leslie wasn’t resisting him now. His honey-colored hair was frizzled and damp with sweat, his gray eyes frantically searching for a way out, a voiceless prayer spread across his face.

“What are you doing?” Leslie dared to ask, as Jacob grabbed him by his waist and pulled him closer. “I don’t… I don’t want to,” he continued, his voice weak. The annoyance that flashed in Jacob’s eyes made the blood freeze in his veins, and his heart clenched, as his whole body stiffened.

“It doesn’t matter. Or, do you wish to disobey me? I can always call John if you want to. He’d be more than glad to tear that defiance from your flesh,” Jacob said softly, rubbing his thumbs against Leslie’s damp skin. Again he covered his dangerous words with a soft layer, but Leslie could see right through it, almost like he was meant to.

Jacob flicked his eyes down, examining the numerous scars adorning the Chosen’s skin. The small, round scars on his arms looked like cigarette burns, and oddly enough he wanted to laugh. Jacob moved his hands slowly against Leslie’s cold skin, examining every scar with his fingertips, summoning small shivers of fear with his soft touches.

It was almost  _ too _ easy. And at that moment Jacob was sure he’d chosen well — this particular Chosen was probably already accustomed to pain, so he wouldn’t complain like a little bitch, no matter how soft and pathetic he was. Jacob clicked his tongue, and asked, “So? Are you going to disobey?”

“No,” Leslie said quietly, his eyes wide and watery with fear. John would be a lot worse option than Jacob — or so Leslie told himself. He was scared of John, mostly because of his talent in pulling out confessions and sometimes causing grievous bodily harm in the process. Once had been more than enough, and as far as Leslie knew, no one wanted to sit in that fucking chair ever again.

“Good,” the Herald said and lifted his hand to brush it over Leslie’s cheek in a treacherously gentle manner. “Now, take off your pants.”

The Chosen nodded and began to unbuckle his belt, his hands shaking. He knew what was coming, as he’d been through it before in another time, another life, another place. His heart pumped acid through his veins, as he obeyed like a machine, not able to say 'no'.

Leslie swallowed forcefully to keep himself from throwing up — the situation brought back some bad memories, and he tried to actively push them away, so he wouldn’t panic. The situation was a freefall he had no control over; he could only flail his arms in desperation and hope that whatever waited for him at the bottom wouldn’t kill him.

He managed to undo his pants, but then Jacob interrupted him by yanking them downwards, frustrated that it was taking so fucking long. With a dangerous smile, Jacob grabbed Leslie’s flaccid dick and started to move his hand, brushing his thumb over the loose skin. Leslie’s lips parted and he squeezed his eyes shut when his body betrayed him and he began to harden. It was a harrowing feeling to realize that no matter how scared he was, or how much he hated what was happening, his body had a mind of its own. He hoped that fear would dull down his senses, but it wasn’t possible, and he knew it.

The last time someone had made him perform sexual acts had landed the person responsible for it in hospital, and Leslie in jail. But he couldn’t raise a hand against his Herald, no matter how much he wanted to — they were all indoctrinated that way, and he knew it far too well. So all Leslie could do was obey and serve his master, while balling his hands into fists and driving his nails into his palms. He was cold, so fucking cold, when the last glimmer of hope left him with a shuddering exhale.

“It wouldn’t be fair if I left you without attention, now would it?” Jacob murmured, trailing his lips along Leslie’s neck, pressing his tongue against the salty skin, his hand moving along the Chosen's hardening length sloppily, almost lazily. The teasing movement of his tongue quickly turned into teeth and Leslie bit back a pained scream, as the pressure of the sharp teeth grew too much for his skin, and they pierced through. Jacob breathed out, before lapping at the blood, admiring the mark on his Chosen. Even though marking people was more a habit of his littlest brother, he could understand the attraction. It was almost exhilarating seeing that Leslie was now marked. Not forever, but long enough so he wouldn’t forget.

“Turn around and bend over the desk,” Jacob suddenly said and stepped back, letting go of his Chosen's now fully erect dick. He wiped his hand against his jeans and raised a brow, watching as the blood ran over Leslie’s collar bone as a thin rivulet. The tight muscles under his pale skin were twitching, his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“Yes, sir,” he managed to squeeze out between his teeth. He turned around and moved closer to the desk, propping himself against the cold surface with his hands. Again, he was too slow in Jacob’s opinion — he grabbed Leslie by his hair and slammed him against the desk, enticing a pained cry from him. His dick pressed against the hardwood, and it hurt. Enough that it made his eyes water even more, but not enough that he would've expressed his pain in any way.

Jacob yanked Leslie’s pants down to his knees, letting out a snort, which made Leslie bite his tongue, so he wouldn't start crying. With a huff, Jacob opened a drawer, clattering about, as if searching for something. It seemed to go on forever; the anticipation, the almost accidental, gentle movement of his fingers against Leslie’s lower back. Then it abruptly stopped.

Leslie pressed his forehead against the desk, unable to say, or do anything. He wanted to beg, to grovel, and to do  _ anything _ else than to stand still, like cattle waiting to be slaughtered.

Jacob’s hand was surprisingly warm, and rough, as he rubbed it against Leslie’s back, his fingertips trailing the long, thick scars which looked like old belt lashes. Soon his hand moved downwards, slipping against Leslie’s ass, his nails digging into the soft flesh. He slipped a finger against his Chosen's hole, and his back arched slightly, his shoulders hiking up. As the cold lube hit his skin, he flinched and let out a muffled yelp.

“Has anyone fucked you before?” Jacob asked, as he kept pouring the lube onto his hand and over Leslie’s hole. He was hard and all he wanted was to fuck his Chosen senseless.

“Yes,” Leslie admitted, his mind straying to the sloppy one-night stand he’d had a few months back, which had not been his first time, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of experience. He decided it was best not to mention it to Jacob, and he hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions.

“Then you know what to expect. Good.” Jacob’s voice seemed like it was coming from afar, and all Leslie wanted was to detach himself from the impending horror. But he couldn’t just go to his happy place; the fear was blocking every single happy memory he had. Maybe that’s why Jacob had chosen him — an already damaged individual, who’d seen more than his share of shit during his short life. What is already broken, cannot be broken again, Leslie thought. And what is once broken, cannot be fixed, right?

Leslie stifled a sob, when Jacob slipped a finger inside, pressing it past the tight muscles. He flexed it as he pushed it as deep as possible. It burned and it stung, but Leslie was trying his best to ignore it. He braced himself, trying to force his muscles to relax. They didn’t. If possible, they tensed even more, when Jacob forced another finger inside, his haphazard movements sending jolts of pain up Leslie’s back. Just beneath the thick surface of pain was the familiar, feverish pleasure, which spiked every time Jacob pulled his fingers out. It caused panic to uncoil in Leslie’s stomach — his body wasn’t cooperating with him the slightest. It wasn’t supposed to feel good. There wasn’t supposed to be any pleasure when he didn’t want it. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t.

The pain began to ease, but the fear and panic didn’t. Despite those, Leslie could feel his body beginning to betray him even more — he couldn’t stop himself from panting, or the pressure building up inside. The occasional whine fell from his lips as Jacob moved his fingers back and forth. It felt like he was strumming a chord inside, sending cold ripples of pleasure down his thighs when he added a third finger, the wet sound of his fingers easing out echoing in the room.

“If you’re a good boy,” Jacob started, bending his fingers. “I’ll treat you good. But if you rebel…” He pulled his fingers out. “I’ll punish you.” He rutted his fingers inside, with an additional fourth one, and it made Leslie bite back a choked, pained moan. “Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Leslie panted. “Sir,” he added quickly, afraid of the possible punishment if he didn’t. He didn't know how to act in a situation like that, but then again, who did?

“Don’t forget your position,” Jacob murmured, arching his back so he could sink his teeth into Leslie’s side, just underneath his ribcage. The soft flesh gave in too easily, and as the taste of salt filled Jacob’s mouth, he licked the blood off, enjoying the oily, thick texture against his tongue. All the while he was moving his fingers in and out in a steady, yet slow rhythm. He straightened his back and glanced downwards at the bulge in his jeans, moving his free hand to his thigh holster so he could yank it off. Leslie flinched when he slammed it next to his head. It would be so fucking easy for him to take the knife, or the gun, and attack Jacob. But both of them knew he would do nothing like it. For the Herald, it was merely a flex of the power he held. He grinned as he undid his jeans, and on a whim, he pulled off his belt and tugged his fingers out.

“What—” Leslie began, but his sentence was cut short by the sudden lash of the leather belt across his shoulder blades. His eyes welled up, and he couldn’t stop the tears from pouring out. But he refused to scream, because he wasn’t weak. Jacob smirked, and he waved the belt again, this time driving it against the Chosen’s lower back, just above his ass. The buckle broke the skin over the vertebrae. It hadn’t been Jacob’s intention, but seeing it made him realize that it was exactly what he wanted. He struck again and again, creating three new dents into Leslie’s flesh, which were slowly filling with blood.

The bright red streak splitting Leslie's shoulder blades burned, as Jacob brushed his hand against it while he tugged his jeans down and pulled his dick out. He hummed as he threw the belt on the floor, knowing that he could always continue later. But now he had to come, or he would lose his shit, even more, that is. Seeing the blood and not hearing the pained screams he’d been expecting was chipping away at his self-control, and an odd cocktail of annoyance and pride washed over him.

Leslie’s back arched and he cried out when Jacob began to push his dick inside. He was high-strung like the string of a violin, his every breath sharp and short. As Jacob managed to press deeper, it hurt like hell. No amount of preparation wasn’t going to help if Leslie couldn’t bring himself to relax. But he couldn’t do it. It was like he’d been doused in cold water — he was shivering and his teeth were clattering. The pain and fear made his body tense up, and he was unable to stop himself from screaming, “Stop!” when Jacob moved his hips. He regretted it immediately after.

“What?” the Herald snapped and dug his nails into Leslie’s thighs, wanting to do so much more than just claw at his skin.

“It hurts,” Leslie muttered in response, his voice thick with tears.

“Then relax.”

“I can’t.”

“Well, tough shit,” Jacob snarled and rutted himself inside. Leslie’s mouth opened, and for a split second he was quiet, but then he banged his head against the desk and let out a pained howl. The pain was horrid — it was like he had a knife inside of him, and as Jacob pulled back, it felt like his insides were being slashed apart, or pulled out, he couldn't say. Leslie began to sob uncontrollably, and his chest heaved as he tried to keep his panic from boiling over. But he was weaker than he thought, so he succumbed to panic, his tears pooling on the desk's smooth wooden surface. His vision darkened from the pain and his legs barely carried his weight when he could taste the familiar burning bile rising into his mouth.

“Wait,” Leslie pleaded, his breathing shuddering as he tried to fill his lungs. The word had come out as an order, rather than a plead. “It hurts.” His voice was too loud, his tone too demanding, but it was too late to do anything about it.

“You weak little shit,” Jacob hissed, his voice dipping into something dangerous. "I thought my men were tougher than this.” He began to roll his hips, making sure that every time he pushed inside, he pressed as deep as possible, not giving Leslie a chance to catch his breath. He quickly pulled nearly fully out and slammed back inside, his breathing ragged as the pleasure began to mutate from a slight tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach into a burning hot flame licking his insides.

Jacob yanked Leslie backward, so he could free his dick. He was pleased to notice that he was still hard — a physical reaction, nothing else, but at that moment it didn’t matter. It was a sick feeling of strange content that filled Jacob when he began to sloppily jerk Leslie off, not giving it much thought. He pressed deep inside, and stayed there as a precaution, knowing that he was getting close. And he really didn’t wish to come yet. Not so fucking soon.

Somehow Jacob managed to lure out a series of small, pathetic whines as he moved his hand along the length of Leslie's dick. Every whine tugged at his stomach like a hook, pulling his insides into a tight ball just underneath his diaphragm.

_ No, no, no, no, _ Leslie thought as his back curled. He felt like dying when his hips twitched pathetically against his Herald’s hand and he came, his cum splattering on the floor and staining his pants. He squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed and horrified that his body could do something like that to him. It would’ve been better if it had felt like nothing, but unfortunately, it wasn’t so. The pleasure was real, and it was there, pounding in his veins in the rhythm of his heart. Jacob’s hot breath brushed his back, and soon his teeth followed. He left bruises with livid centers on Leslie’s back as he bit down to his flesh over and over again, barely stopping himself from breaking the skin.

[When Jacob felt Leslie’s muscles relaxing just the tiniest bit, he pulled back and began to rut violently into him, anchoring his hands on Leslie's hips to keep up the fast pace. simply whined quietly when Jacob dug his nails into his skin and fucked him as harshly as he could, his hips moving in a frantic pace, his dick sliding in and out.]

At that moment, Leslie stopped wanting to disappear. He closed his eyes and took the pain, the continuing pleasure, and the fear and panic. He welcomed them with open arms, and he hit the bottom — he was broken, violated, but alive. And nothing else mattered at that moment.

“Stay still,” Jacob barked as Leslie started to squirm, his nails scraping the surface of the desk — a panic-induced reaction he couldn’t control. He was gasping for breath, his lungs jaggedly heaving because of the pain. It had eased with the orgasm, but now it was spiking once again, the same burning and stinging sensation spreading down his legs. The pain was getting too much to handle, but there was nothing that he could do. He was still crying, his quiet, pained howls drowning under Jacob’s heavy breathing.

Jacob suddenly paused, before rutting once more deep inside, his nails popping through his Chosen's skin. He came with a low growl, and he leaned his head against Leslie’s back as his hips twitched and he shot his load inside. The warm, flowing relaxation poured over him and he petted Leslie's sides and said softly, “You did good.” It was twisted that Leslie got pleasure from that praise, but he couldn’t care less. He was hurting, and all he wanted was to sink into a hot bath. He felt nasty and disgusting, and as Jacob pulled back, he let out an exhale of relief.

His relief, however, was short-lived, when Jacob’s fingers found their way inside, slowly pressing deeper. He enjoyed feeling the muscles clamping and the resistance which followed when he fanned his fingers. Even though Jacob wanted to keep going, he wasn’t a young man anymore, so he pulled his fingers out and stepped back. He wiped his hand against his jeans, not giving shit about the mess, and yanked them back on, before picking up his belt. Not even looking at Leslie, he grabbed his holster from the table and put the lube back into the drawer. He was, after all, an organized man, and the mere thought of leaving his stuff laying around made him cringe.

When Leslie pushed himself upright, his whole body was trembling violently. The act itself had been painful, but the fear which was wrapped around his insides was even worse — the pain would cease, it would pause when he slept, but the fear… The fear would scar his soul and leave its mark; an eternal reminder of his suffering.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” Jacob suddenly said. “I need you later.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie replied, his voice flat. He pulled his pants back on, and buttoned them quickly, nearly throwing up as he felt the cum slowly trickle out of him. He wanted to cover himself up, pour boiling water over his skin, or set himself on fire.

“You know where my quarters are?” Leslie nodded. “Good. There are some clothes in the bathroom. Go clean yourself up and eat something, I have to get back to work. You were good.” Jacob left, leaving the door ajar. His receding footsteps sounded like small booms of thunder, and Leslie was finally able to lift his head. He glanced around, his stomach in a tight knot. Without warning, he bent over and threw up, the remnants of his breakfast spread on the floor.

~***~

Leslie winced as he flung his leg into the tub, hissing at the hot water burning his skin. It was as hot as he could get from the old pipes, which meant it was extremely hot. He simply wailed as he sat down, gasping for breath as the water stung the wounds on his back. Somehow it felt purifying. His stained clothes were on the floor, and small dots of blood ran from the pile to the tub.

“Fuck,” Leslie muttered to himself and cupped water into his hands to splash it against his face. The water was turning reddish because of the blood — and it was a nauseating realization. But Leslie didn’t have the energy to shower at that moment, so taking a bath was a much better option. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the creaking and humming of the building. Even though he had locked the bathroom door, he was still afraid that a certain someone would kick the door down.

He forced himself to think of anything else than Jacob, so his mind wandered to the storm brewing outside. The window at the end of the bathroom was large, and Leslie could see it from where he was sitting, so he flicked his eyes to it, watching as the wind blew thick blankets of snow against the window frame. He could hear the wind howling and it chilled him to the bone.

Suddenly he was worried about his Herald because of the fucking snowstorm. Which made no sense, but he knew he couldn’t help it. He would always do everything in his power to protect and please Jacob, no matter how fucked up it seemed. A small part of his brain was questioning his actions, but an even bigger part was focused on pleasing the Herald.

When Leslie had joined Eden’s Gate, it had been the first time he’d felt like he had a family and a home — and the feeling was still there, but as it was shrouded by pain and anxiety, he couldn’t see it.

Why him? It was the only thought that ran through his head as he leaned forward and pushed his face under the softly lapping water, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly it hurt. He yanked his head backward when his lungs began to ache. The hot water stung his eyes, and the bite mark on his neck was burning and dripping blood into the bath.

Why him?

He knew there was no point in mulling over it, and like always, he pushed his feelings aside, essentially bottling them up so he wouldn’t have to address them. Because it was easier, and because it was the only survival mechanism he’d learned during his harsh life. It always backfired, but it was a problem for future-Leslie. The now-Leslie was fine — mostly.

Leslie didn’t know how long he’d been soaking in the water, but when he heard a sharp, demanding knock at the door, he bit back a scream. He leaned forward, digging his nails into his thighs, trying to calm his shaking hands. He hadn’t been sleeping, just letting his mind wander as he listened to the howls and tussling of the wolves and Judges out in the yard. The sounds pierced through the old, thin windows easily.

_ “Leslie, I know you’re there.” _ It was Jacob. His voice was flat, which wasn’t that surprising, but it made it difficult to decipher his mood. He could've been livid, for all Leslie knew.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute!” the Chosen replied and jumped up, nearly slipping and falling over. He couldn’t hear anything, so he sat on the edge of the tub, inhaling deeply to stop his heart from bursting through his chest. He yanked the plug off, watching as a mix of warm water, blood and other bodily fluids swirled down the drain. His head was aching, his muscles sore and he felt like he had the flu. The subtle, constant tremble of his muscles made him feel feverish.

Not wanting to annoy Jacob, he showered quickly, scrubbing his skin until he bled from his thighs, cursing quietly and gritting his teeth. The hot water, or the painful scrubbing didn’t wash the nasty feeling he had all over his body. He could’ve boiled himself alive, and he would’ve still felt nasty and dirty. It was impossible to feel even partially normal when his back was still bleeding, and it felt like he had a knife permanently stuck inside of him. A cutting pain tore through his insides every time he moved, and his stomach cramped because of it.

It felt so fucking meaningless to put on fresh clothes, as the blood trickling from his back began to soak into the soft fabric in an instant. But nonetheless, Leslie got dressed — a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants — and unlocked the bathroom door. As he pulled it open, he nearly jumped backward as he saw Jacob standing there, his hands in his pockets, leaning against a wall. He stared at Leslie, completely unfazed.

“You needed me?” Leslie asked, his robotic voice concealing his fear. Or so he thought. But Jacob could see it clearly, as his eyes were slightly widened, his brow furrowed just the tiniest bit. Fear. Jacob could always see it, smell it and hear it — no matter how hard people tried to hide it.

“You took your time.”

“Forgive me,” Leslie said quietly and his gaze fell. He stared at the floor and continued, “I must’ve dozed off.” A small lie, which he knew his Herald wouldn’t catch.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“No, sir.”

“Follow me,” Jacob said and pushed himself upright.

“Yes, sir.”

Jacob was quiet when he briskly walked along the long, narrow hallway. When he reached the end, he pushed open the wooden door at the end and turned around to say, “You won’t touch anything. And if you start smart-mouthing at me about that order, I’ll make you pay. Do you understand?”

Leslie wondered who was brave, or stupid, enough to do so. He most certainly wasn’t, so he just nodded, not trusting his voice. When he followed Jacob into his bedroom, he paused at the doorway, until finally taking the first step inside. A chill ran down his spine as he looked around and thought,  _ If these walls could speak… _ The room was sparsely furnished; a bed, a bookshelf filled to the brim, a dresser, and a small nightstand. But there were at least three sniper rifles and two handguns and a shotgun which Leslie could see with one glance. He swallowed.

“Close the door behind you.”

Leslie obeyed and turned to face his Herald, his head slightly bowed. He had no idea what he should do or say, so he pinched his mouth shut, unsure of everything. The whole situation felt surreal. He was a Chosen, handpicked by Jacob himself, but still, his whole life and worth had been driven into the ground in a matter of minutes.

Leslie had no idea how long the act itself had lasted, but it felt like hours now that he thought of it. It hadn’t lasted for hours, and he knew it. It just felt like it had.

“You’re bleeding.” It was a statement. There wasn’t a sliver of worry or caring in Jacob’s voice. It was a cold, hard fact. Instinctively Leslie lifted a hand to his neck and felt the slick blood under his fingers. He brought the bloodied hand to his eye level and glanced at Jacob. Then he nodded slowly, like he hadn’t noticed the blood before. But of course he had.

“I…” he started and dropped his hand, wiping it against his pants. “I’m sorry.”

Jacob shrugged and said, “Okay.” He jerked his head towards the large bed in the corner of the room. “I need you to keep my bed warm.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie muttered. The floor felt cold against his bare feet as he began to walk towards the bed. When he had to pass Jacob, he was sure something would happen, and he couldn’t breathe until he reached the bed and sat down.

“Leslie.” The way he pronounced his name was deceivingly soft.

“Yes?” Leslie lifted his gaze, searching for his Herald’s. When he met his cold, blue eyes, he flinched and swallowed. Jacob hummed and stepped closer. He knelt in front of his Chosen, sliding his hands along his trembling thighs. Leslie’s actions had pleased him, and he was ready to give him some slack. In the end, he’d taken the pain like a soldier.

Jacob didn’t ask for permission, he simply slipped his fingers under the waistband of Leslie’s pants, creeping towards his dick. The soft, almost nonexistent touch was like gasoline to a flame — Leslie moved abruptly, and Jacob winced as he felt a sharp pain in his arm. He looked down, his hand inside his Chosen’s pants, and long, narrow scratches running along his forearm.

Without saying a word he stood and shoved Leslie on his back, before pulling his pants off. He straddled the smaller man, settling his weight against his thighs and shook his head, before saying, “Didn’t you learn anything?” Leslie didn’t reply, he just stared at his Herald, tears flowing down his cheeks. Jacob placed one hand against his chest and splayed his fingers, pushing down until Leslie’s breathing hitched. His other hand found its way to the Chosen’s dick, cold fingers wrapping tightly around it.

“You better start liking this at some point, because no matter how much you struggle, you can’t make me stop. You can scream and bite and scratch all you want, but know this…” Jacob leaned closer, the thin, red streaks on his arm trickling out blood. “Every time you harm me or refuse to obey me, you will be punished.” He chuckled. “You better start prayin’, boy, because this is as close to hell as you’ll ever get.”

Jacob let go of Leslie’s dick and took his right hand instead, lifting it in front of his eyes. He wrapped his fingers around the index finger and narrowed his eyes. Leslie screamed as Jacob started to bend the finger backward. First the joint popped, but then the bone snapped like a dry branch. It was his fucking trigger finger. Leslie wailed and yanked his hand back, staring at the bruising, swelling flesh on his hand. He hadn’t noticed it, but he was sobbing uncontrollably, his finger bent against the back of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! give a kudos and/or a comment if you got the time.


	2. Yukon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t you fucking lie to me. Do you really think I don’t know every little dirty detail? You think I don’t know when, where and how he fucked you? It was all in the documents, you know? All those claims you made. But no one believed you, now did they?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh this is annoying putting all these up again. sigh.
> 
> song rec for this chapter: Yukon by Lindemann

Coldness was the first thing Leslie noticed, but he just pulled the covers over his head and groaned, desperately hanging onto the wonderland that was his dream. But through the thick veil of sleepy haze, he could hear the wind howling and feel the cold nipping painfully at his skin. It tugged him fully awake, and as he came to, his mind instantly reminded him of ‘the incident’, like he’d dubbed it. He refused to address it by anything else, simply to keep his sanity and to avoid having a panic attack every time he saw Jacob, or even thought of him. It had worked for the past few days, and he was sure it would most likely continue working.

Leslie sat up, sighing in annoyance, accidentally leaning against his right hand. He cried out in pain and fell on his back, as he pulled his hand against his chest to get the weight off of the broken finger. It had a splint in it, and he was on pain killers — doctor’s orders, but it still didn’t ease the pain enough. His finger throbbed and burned constantly, and now it felt like it was breaking all over again. It was probably too damaged to even work properly anymore, but he’d know more in three to four months. One simple movement and Jacob had taken his future away from him. What kind of a Chosen was he, if he couldn’t even shoot a gun?

A useless one. And if there was something Jacob hated more than weak soldiers, it was useless soldiers. Because even the weak had their purpose. But Leslie wished to be neither — he was adamant in showing that he wasn’t useless, or weak. Even though a part of him wanted to die, he didn’t give that part much attention, fearing that if he would, there would be no end to it. Instead, he did everything that was asked of him to keep his mind occupied, and he knew he had to keep up his strength, so he didn’t refuse food, or rest. It had surprised Jacob, but he’d been pleased to see how resilient his Chosen was. He was happy to see that his training had paid off.

The bedroom was empty, Jacob’s red sniper rifle gone and the window wide open. Snow had blown in and melted on the floor, creating a small, half-frozen puddle. The only reason to get out of bed was to close the window, so that’s exactly was Leslie did. As he glanced out, he noticed that the yard had been cleared of the large heaps of snow. It was still snowing, though, but not much. The window overlooked into the backyard, and Leslie stared at the wolf cages, annoyed that his work was waiting for him. Sitting around doing nothing was not his forte. Never had been, and never would be, that he was sure of.

He stepped over the puddle, thinking that he’d have enough time to clean it up before his Herald would return. There wasn’t a lot of light left — after all, the days were short in Montana during winter. When he reached for the handle, he winced as the wounds on his back felt like they were being torn open. A wolf or a Judge started to howl in the yard, and Leslie slammed the window shut, even though he knew it wouldn't completely block the sound.

Leslie hopped back into bed, only to realize that he had to use the bathroom. He cringed and stared at the door, pondering his options. Which he had just two — he could stay and hold it in, or he could get out of the room and risk running into someone. Other Chosen sometimes popped by Jacob’s quarters to deliver papers, maps, or books, and Leslie was dreading the moment he would run into someone. He knew it was going to happen sooner or later, but he had no desire whatsoever to start explaining the shitty condition he was in, or his sudden disappearance from work.

After a minute he gave in, as his bladder felt like bursting, and he got to his feet, the thick navy-blue jumper he had on covering enough so he didn’t bother putting on pants. Not that he even knew where his clothes were. The jumper was Jacob’s, and for some fucked up reason he had permission to use it. Maybe Jacob liked seeing him in it, or maybe it was a way to lull him into a false sense of security. Whatever it was, Leslie had concluded that it wasn't anything good. He bit his lip, rolling up the sleeves with a frown on his face.

The door swung open quietly, and the only sound audible was his bare feet tapping against the hardwood floor as he hurried along the dim hallway, his heart in his throat. He slipped inside the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it, cursing because it was so fucking difficult with his left hand.

Leslie banged his head against the door. Then again, but this time a lot harder. He should’ve stayed in the fucking barren pile of shit that was his hometown, because coming to goddamn backwoods Montana had been a foolish idea. Now he was stuck with Jacob Seed, but he was still sure that being at John’s mercy would’ve been worse, so he really shouldn’t complain about his situation.

Even though Leslie wasn’t exactly experienced, he was sure that bleeding after two days wasn’t normal by any means. Granted, there wasn’t much, but still. Gritting his teeth, he fought through the nauseating, watery blood, finally ignoring it completely. He was good at ignoring stuff, so it wasn’t even that difficult. What he couldn’t ignore were the sudden stomach cramps which forced him to stop whatever he was doing and hold his breath while his heart hummed in his ears. They were much more scarce than they’d been the day before, so that was a good thing. But they always came when he least expected it. The first few times he’d vomited because of them, and he’d been extremely glad that Jacob hadn’t seen the mess. Whether it was physical, or psychological, he didn’t know, nor did he care. He just wanted the pain to be over.

Leslie caught a glimpse of his puffed eyes as he washed his hands, careful not to get the splint or the bandages wet, and he had to bow his head so he wouldn’t have to look at himself. Disgust burned his throat every time he saw his reflection, or when he had to touch himself for whatever reason. He didn’t trust his body anymore, and he hated himself because of it. His mind had betrayed him a long time ago, and now his body had followed.

If only he could leave to never return. It was a weird feeling; he knew he’d been — in the lack of a better word — brainwashed, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He was painfully aware of how meekly he obeyed Jacob, especially now when he’d shown what his punishments were. He wanted to stay alive, to survive long enough so he could, perhaps, someday leave. If he couldn't, at least he'd still be breathing, because after all, the pain was temporary, but death was permanent.

Leslie peeked into the hallway and stepped outside. He closed the door quietly and headed back to the bedroom. There was no saying how long Jacob would let him stay inside, but he knew that he’d have to get back to work at some point. Against his expectations, Jacob hadn’t touched him at all. Well, he had, once. It was to drag his hand through his hair, when he’d cooked for his Herald. It had been one gentle touch, and it had driven Leslie crazy — he wanted more, and he loathed himself because of it. He knew that not all of the Chosen were like he was — eager to please and lacking a backbone — but he'd always enjoyed getting attention from his Herald, and his praises were something he longed for. Suddenly it made sense as to why Jacob had picked him.

There wasn’t a lot to do, so Leslie decided to rummage through Jacob’s overflowing bookshelf, as he’d already forgotten about the rule — don’t touch anything. He pondered for a moment, tapping the spines of the books, before deciding that he should finally read James Joyce’s Ulysses; it was one of the mandatory books to read while he’d been in high school, but he'd never had the chance to read it. He’d dropped out soon after starting the school year so he could work and bring food to the table.

As he crawled back into bed, book in hand, he wondered if Jacob had read it. The book was worn and frayed, and as he leafed through it, he could see that some paragraphs and sentences had been underlined. There were also some notes that Jacob had written about it — Leslie could recognize his neat handwriting — and it seemed like he’d read the book several times because there were a lot of notes and underlining.

One part which caught his eye, as it had been underlined with a red pen, read,  _ “There are sins or (let us call them as the world calls them) evil memories which are hidden away by man in the darkest places of the heart but they abide there and wait.” _

Leslie suddenly felt anxious, and he flipped to the first page, shaking his head. He was pretty sure why Jacob had underlined that part, and what evil memories he probably had hidden away.

War. It was something Leslie had never experienced, but he’d seen the effects in his father, who had been scarred mentally, broken down by the death and destruction of civilians during the Siege of Sarajevo. And as weird and disgusting as it was, there was something about Jacob that reminded Leslie of his late father, and that part, albeit shrouded by his rough exterior, extinguished the last remnants of his hatred towards his Herald.

After everything, Leslie had become the one thing his father never wanted his son to become; a soldier. Because soldiers are stupid, and they only follow orders, as his father had told him repeatedly. Soldiers are blind, they are like chained dogs, mindlessly yanked back and forth by the people in charge, as they tugged their chains, he used to mutter angrily, his white eyes staring into nothingness.

Leslie winced and pushed the memory away, so he could concentrate on reading. It took him about five minutes to get bored of the Ulysses — classic or not, he wasn’t entertained by it, so he left the book on the bed and went back to the bookshelf. As he pulled out books one by one, haphazardly shoving them back when he wasn’t interested in them, he dropped a small book that was tucked behind the bigger ones. He picked it up and turned it around.  _ Teleny. _

Leslie blushed and blinked rapidly, glancing around suspiciously, like Jacob would suddenly jump into view from somewhere. He knew about the book. Well, of course, he did, he owned a copy and he'd read it multiple times. His nails pressed harshly against the wine-red cover when he flipped it open, his hands shaking. He’d never pegged Jacob as being someone who would own Teleny — it was after all a book filled with graphic homoerotic content. There were no markings in that particular book, so Leslie closed it, his eyes straying to the bookshelf.

On a whim he started to meticulously go through the books, trying to find more. He was deathly curious, one of his not-so-fine qualities which had gotten him in plenty of trouble as a teenager. And as an adult. He snorted as he began to tear books off the shelves, dropping most of them on the floor — he felt bad for doing so, because to him, books were precious. But he was way too curious to not make a mess.

_ 120 Days of Sodom. _ The word sadism was derived from Marquis de Sade, the author of said book, so it was only natural that a sadistic person like Jacob would own it.  _ Story of the Eye, Baise-moi, Venus in Furs, The Sins of the Cities of the Plain…  _ Sadomasochism and murders and near-necrophilia and weirdest of all; more homoeroticism. It came across as surprising and uncharacteristic. After all, Jacob was a Herald and Leslie was sure that Joseph would never allow such books. Well, maybe it was the reason why they were all hidden from view. Leslie paused and rolled his eyes. He was surprised to find books with homoerotic content, even though he was pretty sure Jacob was interested only in men. Granted, he couldn’t be sure, but there were enough rumors were flying around about their Herald’s sexuality — so much so, that even in Leslie’s opinion some people should be punished for gossiping.

Leslie sat down on the floor cross-legged, flipping through the books, hissing every time he accidentally tried to bend his broken finger. He knew them all, mostly because of the lack of internet connection had been a bit of an issue, so he’d collected pornographic books just to have something to fantasize about. He’d always been attracted to the vivid imagery, crude words, and brazenness — something that was highly forbidden under the watchful eye of his mother and stepfather. He never got caught, because they never went through his bookshelf, as long as the books in view were allowed in the household. Not that they even knew all of them, but they’d recognized the authors — Dostoevsky, du Maurier, London, Faulkner, Dickens.

There had been a time when he had been studying hard, dreaming that one day he'd go to college and major in English literature. It never happened because once poor, always poor, like his mother used to say while parking a cigarette between her red lips and patting her son’s head, her breath smelling like day-old sherry.

As Leslie leafed through Jacob’s books, he realized that it didn’t take him long to find the parts that always made his breathing hitch; he’d read the books so many times before, that even now, a few years later, he was even able to recall lines from them. He knew he was toying with something, but he just couldn’t say what it was. Reading took his mind off the incident, and the more he read, the more his restlessness grew as his eyes glided over the familiar lines and scenes.

Groaning, Leslie threw the book —  _ Baise-moi _ — from his hands and laid on his back. He closed his eyes, and he began to inch his left hand down his chest. He crossed his stomach, sliding closer to his dick, teasing the waistband of his boxers. A shiver of disgust rippled through him and his eyes flew open as he banged his fist against the floor. He was hard, desperate, and needy, but he couldn’t touch himself without getting nauseous and panicky.

He ground the heels of his hands to his eyes and muttered a quiet, defeated, “Fuck”, while smacking his head against the floor.

“You won’t touch anything.” Jacob’s voice was like an icepick through Leslie’s heart. He sat up and turned his head, cold sweat trickling down his neck. Jacob was leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded. “It was one rule.” His eyes glided over the mess, but he wasn’t annoyed, or angry. He was pleased. It was clear that Leslie had forgotten about the rule. Or was just blatantly disobeying. And that meant that he was tougher than he looked. Or just fucking stupid. Jacob hoped it wasn’t the latter — even the toughest of people could be broken, but once stupid, always stupid.

“I… I think I—”

“Clean it up.”

“Yes, sir.” Leslie nabbed the first book that he could, only to be interrupted by Jacob’s sharp, “Wait.” The Herald walked up to him and squatted, clicking his tongue. There was a weirdly content smile on his face, as he picked up a few books, checking their covers. He glanced at Leslie and hummed, barely able to hold back a pleased laughter.

“Should’ve known,” he said slowly, handing the books to his Chosen. He brushed his fingers against his hand, being mindful of not touching the splint, an indecipherable emotion flickering across his face. “There’s something I gotta ask from you, actually,” he stated and stood, towering over Leslie. He didn’t have his thigh holster, Leslie realized, his eyes glued to the blood-stained, rough denim covering his Herald’s thighs.

“What is it?”

“You got a year and a half. How?”

“What?” the Chosen asked and his shoulders jerked up. He was shaking, holding a pile of books in his lap. He flicked his eyes upwards, with a slight frown on his face. “How did you—”

“Your file. Read it this morning. It was easy to find out what you were doing before you came here.” Jacob wasn’t stupid; of course, he did a background check before promoting anyone to Chosen. “I’m intrigued. Aggravated assault. I read there was some… Permanent damage.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Who’d you beat up? It wasn’t you dad. Actually, that guy wasn’t related to you at all.”

“It was just a guy.” Strike one.

Jacob grinned. “Just a guy?” he asked, hoping that Leslie would keep lying. Of course, he fucking knew everything, but he was bored so there wasn’t really anything else to do than to toy with Leslie.

“Yes.” Strike two.

“He tried to hurt you, then?”

“No. I just got pissed. That’s all.” Strike three.

Suddenly Jacob grabbed Leslie by his hair, forcing him to his feet and ignoring the pained whines that fell from his lips. The books scattered to the floor, thudding against it as Leslie raised his hands to his head. His other hand Jacob brought to his Chosen’s face, locking eyes with him while brushing his cheek with his thumb. It was sickening how gentle and soft some of his touches were.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me. Do you really think I don’t know every little dirty detail? You think I don’t know when, where and how he fucked you? It was all in the documents, you know? All those claims you made. But no one believed you, now did they?”

All color drained from Leslie’s face and he squeezed his eyes shut. A quiet yelp escaped from his throat as Jacob grabbed him by his arm, one hand still tangled amidst his hair, and began to drag him towards the bed.

“No, no, no,” Leslie begged, nearly tripping over his legs, but his Herald’s grip only tightened from his hair, sending jolts of pain along his skull. His eyes flew open as he was pushed on the bed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

“Shut up. You really think you can lie to me and get away with it? I can see right through you.”

Leslie crawled to the other end of the bed, pressing against the headboard, his eyes wide. He was a pale, shaky and sweaty mess — merely a prey driven into a corner. Jacob shucked off his jacket, his eyes fixated on Leslie’s bruised thighs, which he was squeezing together, and kicked off his boots. He stood still for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he thought of something. Then he circled the bed and sat next to Leslie, trapping him between the wall and himself.

“Do you crave for a punishment?” he asked and grabbed a tuft of Leslie’s hair, bending his neck backward to reveal his soft throat. The bite mark was bruised and swollen and for a second Jacob considered biting down to it and tearing it open. “Is that the reason you lied?” Again, the false softness in his voice.

“No.”

“Oh? What is it then?”

“Nothing.”

“Here’s how I see it; you served your time, but you—”

“He didn’t!” Leslie snapped, his voice broken. He bit back a sob and closed his eyes, trying to stop himself from crying. It was useless; the tears pushed out from between his eyelids, rolling down his cheeks. Jacob let go of his hair and folded his arms, a bit taken aback by his strong reaction. On the other hand, he knew he should punish his Chosen for his outburst, but he was intrigued to hear what he had to say, so he decided against it. And, well, his punishments didn’t have expiration dates.

“Is that what you wanted? For him to go to jail?”

“No. I wanted him dead.”

“That the reason you’re here? You had to relocate to a different country, so you wouldn’t kill him?”

Leslie nodded and pinched his brow, focusing solely on the painful pinch of his thumb and index finger, so he wouldn’t have to think about what had happened to him in the past. Pain always took his mind elsewhere, and he seriously considered forcefully flexing his broken finger to elicit even more pain upon himself. Just to stop the nausea from tearing his insides.

“Good. So you  _ do _ have a spine,” Jacob said with a foreign lilt to his voice, and cupped his Chosen’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. Leslie dropped his hand and winced, his eyes damp. “You should’ve finished the job.”

Leslie’s eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth, before replying, “Death would’ve been mercy. And I don’t show mercy to people like him.” His voice was cold and shaky, his cheeks wet. Jacob grinned and let go of Leslie’s face only to pull him closer by his arm. If not for the thick jumper, he would’ve dragged his nails against his skin, just to hear him whimper. He pulled until Leslie finally understood, his eyes wide as he climbed to Jacob’s lap, confused about what was happening.

“You’re a good boy,” Jacob muttered, dragging his hand through his Chosen’s hair, and leaving it to his nape. “Even if you misbehave,” he continued, feeling the constant shivering of the man astride him. His gray eyes were still wide, and tears began trickling out when Jacob pulled him closer to kiss him, his beard tickling and scratching his skin.

He could’ve done anything else, and it wouldn’t have surprised Leslie more — kissing was something he associated with love, not whatever the fuck they had. And because he’d never kissed anyone before, he was puzzled as to what he was supposed to do. But as Jacob slipped his tongue inside his mouth, he realized that it had nothing to do with love or even affection. It was a reward, plain and simple. Leslie shuffled closer, bringing his shaking hands to Jacob’s shoulders just to keep himself upright, finally reciprocating. Unable to control himself, a small whimper escaped him and made him blush. At that moment he couldn’t think of anything except the demanding tongue inside his mouth and the warm fingers drawing circles against his neck. Leslie was brave enough to slip his tongue into Jacob’s mouth, and he tasted like cigarettes and coffee, but it didn’t bother him.

Then it was over, and Leslie gasped as Jacob pushed him away to break the kiss. It had wiped away his panic, but it resurfaced as he felt a hand moving against his thigh. He closed his eyes, as Jacob’s hand slipped under his boxers, sliding against his half-erect dick, wishing once again he could just retreat to his happy place. His heart thudded in his ears and he felt like throwing up when the warm, lapping pleasure began to fill him. It wasn’t right. It was unnatural, twisted, unfair. On top of all, he was afraid he’d snap again, and he really wanted to keep all his fingers and limbs intact.

Despite the fear, panic and disgust, Leslie’s lips parted and his breathing grew heavy when Jacob’s fingers wrapped around his dick, slowly moving up and down. He bit back a sob as he realized he was getting harder, even though he didn’t want to, and it being so scared and disgusted by his body’s reaction made him feel pathetic.

“When I’m done rewarding you,” his Herald murmured into his ear, his lips teasing his cheek. “I’ll give you your punishment for lying to me.”

_ Isn’t this a punishment enough? _ Leslie thought. He nodded and leaned his forehead against Jacob’s shoulder, digging his fingers into them. He arched his neck and didn’t bother suppressing a pained whine as Jacob bit him. Not enough to break the skin, but enough that it hurt like hell and would leave a bruise. Leslie gasped when he felt his Herald’s warm tongue sliding against his neck, just below his ear. It was like he knew his Chosen’s buttons, and he was pushing them all; his tongue brushing the tender skin on Leslie’s neck, and his thumb drawing circles against the tip of his dick, and his other hand rubbing the small of his back.

Jacob moved his hand so slowly it was bordering on torture — it was fast enough to make Leslie tremble and pant, but not fast enough that he could come. His hand was warm and rough, worn by years of hardship. And the friction felt extremely good, even if the pace was teasingly slow, and Leslie grew more and more embarrassed by his stupid whines which were getting louder by the minute.

Then it hit him; Jacob was trying to make him beg. He bit his tongue, fighting back tears and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. Would Jacob get pissed at him, if he’d stay quiet and play dumb? Did he really want him to beg? Or was Leslie reading into the situation? Jacob’s actions made sense only to Jacob himself, and Leslie, even though accustomed to fulfilling the wishes of others, had no fucking idea what his Herald truly wanted out of the situation.

“Please, Jacob, please,” he eventually muttered, hating every second of it. To emphasize it, he jerked his hips, making Jacob chuckle. He wanted to throw up because of the pleasure he was feeling. The act alone would’ve been tolerable, even though he didn’t want anyone to touch him, but with the pleasure building up inside of him, he wanted to scream. But at the same time he wanted, no, he needed a release — and he was pretty sure he would do anything to get it.

“Yes?” Jacob sounded nearly triumphant, his hot breath tickling Leslie’s ear.

“Let me…” Leslie started, before biting back a sob. “Come,” he muttered, his eyes welling up yet again.

“Good,” Jacob chuckled, his hand still going up and down, his grip now painfully tight. “You caught up quickly. I’m impressed.”

Leslie let out an exasperated moan when Jacob let go of his dick, surprising them both. He snapped his head up and bit his lip, sure that he’d aggravated his Herald. A few seconds passed in heavy silence, before Jacob laughed quietly and leaned closer to trail his tongue along Leslie’s neck, enticing a soft exhale from him. The two-day-old bite wound on his neck tasted like salt and iron, and the scab over it felt rough. Jacob was determined in making his Chosen enjoy everything he was going to do to him. Some struggling was fine, but then again he wasn’t always willing to fight just to get laid.

“Get off from these,” Jacob said, yanking at the waistband of Leslie’s boxers.

“No!” The sheer, open defiance took Jacob by surprise. He had assumed he would once again hear the soft, “yes, sir”, not a sharp “no”. He blinked in confusion, as he tried to make sense of the strong reaction.

“'Scuse me?” he asked after an awkward silence, seriously considering slapping the defiance out of the Chosen. His arm jerked, but the look in Leslie’s eyes stopped him. There was something up with him.

“I…” Leslie paused and bit his lip. “It’s just that…” His cheeks burned with shame.

“Yes?”

“It… I…”

“Just fucking spit it out,” Jacob snapped and brought his hands to Leslie’s shoulders. He shook him. Not harshly, but enough to make him whimper and lean backward — a futile attempt to escape his grip. He was trapped, no matter how much he fought back.

“I don’t think I can take it. I’m…” He winced and squeezed his eyes shut, his cheeks deep red. “I’m still bleeding. And it hurts. I… Anything else, please.” He was appalled by his weakness and his pathetically whiny voice.

“What? Still? Why the fuck haven’t you said anything?”

“I… I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Idiot. Of course you didn’t think. Do I have to—”

A crackle of static broke Jacob’s sentence and he glanced at his radio atop his nightstand. It was the reason he’d returned to his bedroom; he’d forgotten it a few hours earlier. But then just seeing Leslie had made him change his mind about getting back to work. He sighed as a voice said,  _ “Herald Jacob? There has been a slight mishap with the Bliss shipment…” _ It was a man’s voice, which Leslie didn’t recognize.

Jacob groaned and reached his hand to grab his radio, his other hand resting on his Chosen’s shoulder. He was frustrated that they had been interrupted, but even he had to admit that his duties to Eden’s Gate came first, no matter how horny, or needy he was.

“What mishap?” he barked.

_ “It’s no good, sir.” _

“What the fuck does that mean?”

_ “Well…” _ A short sigh, which sounded like paper being crumpled into a ball.  _ “We have a batch of Judges that are now useless.” _

“How useless?”

_ “Pretty useless. You see, they’re dead, sir. I have the person responsible for that mistake here, so…” _

“I’ll swing by. I’ll be there within the next hour.”

_ “Yes, sir.” _

Jacob threw his radio aside and turned his attention back to Leslie, sighing heavily. The Chosen’s brow was furrowed, and he was tense, like he was waiting for his Herald to go off on him.

“I gotta go and slit someone’s throat,” Jacob said, his voice strained, his fingers brushing aimlessly against the soft wool covering Leslie’s shoulder.

“Yes, sir.” There it was again; the annoyingly soft and mindless obedience.

“And you’ll go and see the Doc.”

Leslie’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No, I—”

“That was an order. Not a recommendation.”

“I don’t have to. I’m fine,” he pleaded. “It’s nothing.” He really didn’t wish to go see the doctor, no matter how kind and nice she was. There was no way in hell he was going to tell anyone about the incident, but if he was forced to go see a doctor, he would have to tell about it, or at least to some extent. The thought alone made him nearly gag, and he was already close to hyperventilating.

“Get dressed. There’s some clothes your size in the dresser.” Leslie nodded and climbed off his Herald. But then he sat on the bed, balling the sheets into his fists and bit his lip, while shaking his head again.

“Do I really have to?” he whined.

“You’re getting on my nerves,” Jacob warned as he hopped off the bed. “If you don’t wanna bleed some more, get up and get dressed, so I won’t have to drag you to my car by force. I’ve just about had it with you.” He grabbed his jacket from the floor and sighed heavily while he shot a frustrated look at his Chosen.

“Yes, sir,” Leslie replied, quickly crawling off the bed and avoiding looking straight at his Herald. He headed for the dresser, feeling a pair of hungry eyes on his back, fearing what waited for him when Jacob would come back. And as nauseating as it was, he was still hard. He didn’t know how, or why, but it felt like his mind had been severed from his body, and that it was only occasionally obeying him.

“Top drawer.”

The Chosen nodded and yanked the drawer open. He picked up the first pair of black cargo trousers he could find, and dithered for a moment, before deciding that he should probably wear a more fitting shirt. He grabbed a red, woolen jumper and his thick winter coat. Keeping his back towards Jacob he quickly dressed himself, fighting to keep the stomach-twisting nausea at bay. When he turned around, his Herald gave a curt, pleased smile, and jerked his head.

“Follow me.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie replied and hurried after his Herald, quickly pulling his boots on before exiting into the hallway. He closed the door after him, blinking rapidly as panic began to well up his eyes. Jacob walked briskly, a bit too fast for the exhausted Chosen, clipping his radio to his belt and muttering something to himself.

Everything went well until they reach the large lobby on the first floor, and Leslie was relieved that they hadn’t run into anyone. As Jacob pulled the door open, a voice called out from behind them, “Hey! Leslie!”

Leslie turned around, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. He stuck them into the pockets of his jacket to hide his nervousness. Another Chosen — one of the Judge handlers — came jogging towards him across the lobby with a grin on his face. His pants were bloodied, like they usually always were and his black hair was a mess. Leslie glanced over his shoulder, only to notice that Jacob was gone and the door was wide open, letting the grueling cold wind inside.

“Hey, Jack,” he muttered as he flicked his eyes back.

“Where've you been? I need your help with the wolves.” He was smiling, his cheeks flushed.

“Oh,” Leslie said and lifted his right hand to show the splint. He forced a saccharine smile and continued, “I’m going to see the Doc, and she’ll probably tell me how long I gotta keep this on.”

“Ah, fuck! Looks painful. What happened, lad?”

“A car door. It’s broken. It’s not shattered, though, so it’s gonna heal nicely, I guess.”

“Aw, shit, mate, I’m sorry. Lemme know when you’re better. I need my wolf whisperer,” Jack joked. “Okay, okay, I have like three minutes left and I gotta take a leak.” He waved his hand and turned around. “Come see me anyways!” He would’ve lingered, but as he’d seen Jacob with Leslie, he wasn’t going to take a risk of running late and annoying their pedantic Herald.

Leslie sighed and went outside, and as he closed the door, his eyes searched for Jacob. He was leaning against a truck parked close to the gate, which chains around its tires, and he was smoking and staring at the ground. Leslie walked up to him, keeping his eyes fixed on the cigarette. There was no way in hell he was getting close enough to get burned. It was already dark outside, with bright floodlights installed to the walls of the veteran’s center lighting the yard. The building was surrounded by near-perpetual darkness, as there was no such thing as light pollution in Hope County, and Leslie felt slightly creeped out by it like he always did. But most of all the darkness was comforting for him. Night was his home, and it always would be.

“What’d he want?” Jacob asked, blowing a thick cloud of smoke towards Leslie, noticing the longing he had in his eyes.

“Oh. Needed help with the wolves,” he replied, glad that his Herald had no fucking idea that he’d slept with Jack. Twice. Only Jacob could defy Joseph’s rules so blatantly. Everyone else would be punished accordingly, and Leslie was fucked enough as it was. He’d already pissed Jacob off once, and angering Joseph was something he didn’t wish to do.

“From you?” Jacob asked, his tone condescending.

“Yes. I… I’ve been helping out with them. With the blood draws, and training, and such.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m good with dogs, so I kinda figured I’d be good with wolves and the Judges. I’ve trained them a bit.”

“So, are you then?” Leslie shrugged, kicking at a small clump of ice stuck to the ground.

Jacob threw the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with the heel of his boot, staring at his Chosen, a bit annoyed that something like it had slipped him. His warm breath rose to the sky as he sighed heavily. He turned around and yanked the car door open, but when he was about to hop inside, he glanced over his shoulder.

“I trust you know that you’ll have to keep your mouth shut. Not even the Doc needs to know everything.” Dangerous words, soft tone. Leslie shivered.

“Yes, sir,” he replied and circled the car, nervously looking around. He felt like everyone was staring at him — which wasn’t true, because everyone was busy doing their job — but that’s how he felt, so he quickly climbed inside. He closed the door softly, unlike Jacob, who slammed it shut as hard as he could, making the whole truck quake.

“Buckle up.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Jacob peeled off the yard and drove through the gates, making his guards jump aside in fear, Leslie stared out the window. If there was something he could do to change Jacob’s mind about dragging him to the doctor, he would do it. He just knew there wasn’t any — claiming that he was lying  _ might _ work. But then again, Jacob would punish him for lying, and his punishment was probably worse than the humiliation he was about to go through. And getting caught lying about lying… Leslie didn’t even want to think about what might happen.

Being prodded and examined by doctors once had been enough, and there was nothing else Leslie hated more than being humiliated. It didn’t matter if it was intentional or not, but when he was ashamed, he got pissed, and usually he either bolted or flipped out. Neither was a suitable reaction to the situation at hand so he had absolutely no idea how he should handle it.

The white scenery flashed by as Jacob drove recklessly along the snow-covered roads, the engine rumbling loudly and the chains biting into the ice underneath the thin sheet of snow. He took a sharp right turn, and asked, “What d’ya mean you’re good with dogs?” The wide beams of the car's headlights were partially shrouded by the snow, which was thrown against them by the whipping wind.

“Oh… We, uh, moved to Alaska when I was fifteen. And then I dropped out of high school soon after, and started working with sled dogs near Fairbanks. And later when we moved to Fort Yukon, I was actually in charge of the training and care of about forty dogs. We lived in Alaska for four years, before we moved back to Canada. So I have plenty of experience. I’ve always been around dogs, actually, one way or another.”

Leslie thought about the only place he’d ever felt at peace — the Yukon River during winter. The frozen surface of the river snaking through Alaska, the silence of the ruthless wilderness around it, the whooshing sound of a sled gliding across the snow, the panting of the dogs, the occasional yelps and the perpetual darkness. The night was split by the sharp beam of light attached to the sled. During nights it was extremely cold, and the strong, biting wind would sometimes nearly topple the sled over.

“Is that so?” Jacob suddenly asked, yanking Leslie back to reality. “And then you went to jail, because your stepfather was diddling you, and you finally lost your shit on him.”

Leslie tensed and his gaze fell. He stared at his hands, full of small scars and almost-healed nicks and cuts. Former ones mostly caused by overenthusiastic dogs, and the latter ones by scared wolves, or hungry Judges. A shiver ran through him, and suddenly he was cold again. It wasn’t the wind howling behind the windows, or the lack of heating in the car. It was panic. He couldn’t understand why Jacob was adamant in twisting the knife. Granted, it had been five years already, and he should’ve gotten over it.

“Well?” Jacob asked and glanced at his Chosen, his brow furrowed. He made another sharp turn, spraying snow and ice behind the car, until he finally came to a sudden stop, the brakes screeching loudly. As he killed the engine, he placed a hand on Leslie’s thigh, petting it gently. “Get inside.” He sounded pissed, almost like he was contradicting his soft touch with his tone, while he rubbed his palm against his Chosen’s leg.

Leslie stared at the small house, or more like a cottage, seated beneath a mountain slope — one of three clinics in Hope County, strictly for the members of Eden’s Gate. His thigh felt cold when Jacob pulled his hand away, and started tapping the wheel impatiently, staring through the windshield at the slowly falling snow.

“I’ll come pick you up in an hour. Make yourself useful after she’s done with ya. Tell her I sent you.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie replied quietly and opened the door while unbuckling his seatbelt. He jumped out, throwing one last pleading glance at his Herald, as if it would suddenly change his mind.

“I’ll wait here until you’re inside. Don’t even think about sneaking off.” Jacob’s voice was stern and his eyes narrowed, his fingers still tapping the wheel. Suddenly he seemed extremely volatile, like a bomb about to go off, or like a hungry, pissed-off wolf.

“Yes, sir,” Leslie said and closed the door carefully, before wading through the thick snow which crunched under his boots. He yanked the front door open and stomped his feet to get rid of the excess snow. On a whim, he waved his hand to Jacob and disappeared inside. The Herald started the car, slammed the gas and took off, glancing at the rearview mirror to make sure Leslie stayed inside the cottage.

~***~

Leslie was jostled awake by a loud bang. He sat up, his eyes darting back and forth in the dim bedroom, his mind lagging. The only source of light was the reading lamp on the nightstand pointed towards the wall. It felt like his head was full of cotton — a side effect of the sedatives he’d gotten from the doctor — and he felt slightly nauseous. Yet another side effect. It took him a few seconds to realize that it had been Jacob. He was leaning against the door, his jacket wet with melting snow and his jeans bloodied.

“What happened?” Leslie asked carefully, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost midnight.

“The Doc said she brought you here,” Jacob said, ignoring the question, sounding out of breath. “Handling the situation took longer than anticipated.”

Leslie nodded and rubbed his eyes, confused about why Jacob was explaining anything to him. It had been several hours since he’d been dropped at the clinic, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d been sleeping at the veteran’s center. He stared at his Herald as he walked up to the bed, black circles around his glazed eyes.

“That fucker,” Jacob started as he pulled off his jacket and threw it on the floor. “Escaped.” He kicked his boots off, shaking his head in disbelief. “And I had to run after him.” He began to unbutton his jeans and Leslie turned his eyes away, picking at the scabs on his hands. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is? There’s a fuckton of snow.”

“You caught him, though?” the Chosen asked softly.

“Of course,” Jacob snapped. “You think I’m an utterly useless Herald?”

“No, I just—”

“Relax. It was a fucking joke.”

“Oh, okay. I’m sorry. I… She gave me meds, and I feel a bit funny.”

“What did she give you?” the Herald asked as he climbed into bed.

“Sedatives.”

“Get on your back.”

“Sir?”

“Just do it.”

A pause, during which Leslie started to tremble. “Yes, sir,” he whispered and slowly laid on his back, his arms twitching nervously. He’d put on the same jumper he’d been wearing before, and he was painfully aware that he didn’t have anything else on. He flinched as Jacob yanked the covers aside, his hand traveling up his inner thigh, forcing his legs apart. “I can’t—”

“I know,” Jacob sighed. “Doesn’t prevent me from blowing you.”

“I… What?” Leslie asked and tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down. “I… No.”

Jacob snorted. “Yeah, you keep sayin’ that, and maybe it’ll help,” he said mockingly and rolled his eyes. He wrapped his fingers around Leslie’s flaccid dick, and watched as the Chosen covered his face, every muscle in his body rigid and his chest rising and falling in a rapid, rhythmic motion. “Chill. It’s a reward.”

“I don’t want—”

“And I don’t care,” the Herald said sternly and leaned closer, enveloping the Chosen’s dick with his mouth, making him whine. Leslie was terrified — he couldn’t understand how someone could think that what Jacob was doing was a  _ reward _ of all things. Sure, it felt kind of good, but it just wasn’t normal, or hygienic, or—

His mind went blank and his hips jerked up as the pleasure spiked. He brought a hand on his Herald’s head, threading his fingers amidst the damp hair. To his embarrassment, he gasped a small, “There”, when he felt a hand cupping his balls. There wasn’t room for fear in his mind anymore — he wasn’t in pain, he didn’t have to hear Jacob’s voice, and most of all the pleasure was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. If he ignored the fact that it was Jacob, it felt almost... heavenly.

He stared at the ceiling, his hips occasionally bucking upwards and his grip from Jacob’s hair tight, which he didn’t even realize, while he panted and whined. There was no saying how long it went on; his Herald’s tongue drawing abstract designs against his dick, the almost painful suction, and the warm hand rubbing his thighs and his balls. Suddenly Leslie felt his insides twisting, and his stomach felt like it was full of molten lava.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he whined, squeezing his thighs together and trying to push Jacob away. But he didn’t have the strength — he could only pant and moan as the first ripples of orgasm traveled through his body. “No, no, no! Fuck!” he cried out as he came into Jacob’s mouth, ashamed of his body and how weak it was. He closed his eyes, draping his arm over them and panting, almost hyperventilating, as his body squeezed out the last drops which, to Leslie's horror, Jacob swallowed.

“Isn’t it better to just do as I say?” the Herald asked softly as he pulled away. After a while of gathering himself, Leslie moved his arm and stared at Jacob, who was in the process of licking drops of cum from his fingers. He flashed a grin. “Or, do you  _ want _ me to punish you?” he asked, clearly intrigued by the idea.

“No.”

“Good. Because this,” the Herald said, trailing his nails along Leslie’s wet dick, watching as his lips parted and he whimpered. “is just the overture. I have so much planned for you.”

Leslie sat up, his eyes wet and all his muscles either limp or twitching nervously. He forced a small smile as he reached his arm towards Jacob, who flinched and smacked his hand away. He was suddenly tense, his eyes narrowed as he measured his Chosen. For a brief second, Leslie was sure he’d get beaten and he bit back a scared whimper.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jacob snapped.

"I thought I would…" Leslie swallowed. "Return the favor. I'm sorry I—" 

"Enough. I'm exhausted and I gotta be up in five hours. I'll take a raincheck," Jacob muttered, avoiding Leslie's gaze. He plopped on his back and sighed heavily, holding out a hand to his Chosen, who took it hesitantly. Leslie gave a small smile as he shuffled closer and draped an arm over Jacob’s stomach, placing his head against his chest as he pressed against him. He trailed his hand along the thick line of harsh hairs from Jacob’s chest, across his stomach, and paused at the waistband of his boxers.

“Good night,” he said quietly, resting his hand on his Herald’s hip.

“G’night.”


	3. White Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You guess? So what’s the problem? Like I’d let him touch you. You’re mine. He can find his own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three down three to go.  
> i'm working on the seventh chapter btw.
> 
> song rec: Weißes Fleisch by Rammstein

For Leslie, anything would’ve been more interesting than paperwork — even watching paint dry. But as he didn’t have a choice, he merely sighed and twirled a pen in his hand, going through a thick folder with a lot of legal and finance jargon he couldn’t even understand. They had to be organized by month and year, and those had to be alphabetized — why, he didn’t know. Arguing with a pissed of John Seed was something he wasn’t going to do, so he’d just nodded, nearly keeling over under the weight of the cardboard box. John had hissed something about law and ‘that fucking IRS’ and tax exemptions, before slamming the office door shut, leaving behind a very tired, and confused, Leslie.

In reality, he hadn’t been doing anything productive during the few hours he’d spent sitting in the office; he’d just been flipping through the folders, daydreaming, and moving stacks of papers around — just in case if John would come and check on him. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible. At times he had gotten up and went to stare outside through the balcony doors, his arms wrapped around himself, his eyes fixed on the snow-filled horizon. A small part of him kept expecting John to appear, but what Leslie didn’t even realize to expect was for Jacob to suddenly burst inside the office, carrying with him the scent of smoke and blood. He marched to the balcony doors and shoved them open, before whisking around.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked as he sat opposite of Leslie while shucking off his thick jacket. He glanced around before throwing it on the floor and pulling a large binder from a drawer and smacking it on top of the desk. The very same desk that he’d slammed Leslie against two weeks prior.

“Working,” the Chosen replied meekly, staring at Jacob. “Herald John brought these. Something to do with taxes, or the like.” He glanced at the folder he was going through — sheets of bank statements, which showed the massive amounts of money Eden’s Gate was handling each month. “I don’t understand anything, though. I just gotta organize these because of the IRS. Or something.”

“Ah, the tax exemptions,” Jacob said and huffed. “Those fuckers. But it’s better to keep everything up to code, I guess.”

“Yes, I guess so,” Leslie echoed with a small smile. He turned his attention back to the papers, and reluctantly began to remove the sheets from the folder. They were in horrible order — calling the mess they were in an order was a long stretch — so in no time, there were four slanted piles on the desk. Leslie had decided to first separate the bank statements by year, and then by month, and finally, he would alphabetize the accounts if possible. Still made no sense to him, but he did it, even though it annoyed him. He couldn’t understand how John could be so disorganized, and it seemed like he was trying to keep Joseph happy while doing none of the work himself. Sneaky fuck, Leslie thought.

They worked in silence. Jacob was leafing through the papers in the binder, occasionally sighing, or groaning as he came across something he didn’t like, circling something with a red pen, or making notes. Leslie was organizing, and constantly glancing at his Herald, sure that the binder he had was filled with information about his men. More precisely, his Chosen, because Leslie saw a glimpse of his name at the top of one of the papers, written in narrow, tilted cursive, underlined twice with red ink.

It was getting darker by the minute, and Leslie wished he could be outside wading in the thick snow, with the cold air nipping at his cheeks. He stared at the sky shrouded with thick, dark clouds, and a shiver ran through him. Another snowstorm was brewing, it seemed like. He needed to get away from the papers because his head was hurting and he was bored, but as he couldn’t go outside, any kind of a break was welcome.

“Would you like some coffee, and something small to eat?” he suddenly asked after nearly two hours of working in the oppressive silence. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his jumper, even though the office was a bit nippy. But he enjoyed the cold, and it kept him alert.

Jacob snapped his head up and raised a brow. Then he gave a curt smile and replied with a casual, “Yeah, why not.” He seemed like he wasn’t bothered by the cold air pouring in.

“Very well then.” Leslie stood, dropping his pen on the table. “Cream, sugar, or both? I think there’s some cold smoked elk left, so… Sandwiches?”

“Cream and sugar,” the Herald replied. “You know me well. Make some for yourself. Oh, and Leslie?”

“Yes, sir?”

“How long have you been working?”

“About five hours,” the Chosen said as he glanced at the clock on the wall.

“John wake you up?”

“No, I was already awake.”

“He came to my bedroom?” Jacob asked and frowned, suddenly annoyed by his brother’s inconsideration towards everyone else.

Leslie shook his head. “No, I ran into him in the hallway.”

“What were you doing there?”

“What?” he asked, puzzled by the plethora of questions. “I… I had to pee.”

“Oh.”

“Was I not allowed to?”

“Yeah, of course. Now go, I’m hungry.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie said and left quickly, sighing in relief. For a moment he’d feared that Jacob was gonna blow up on him, but thankfully he seemed to be pretty relaxed. Leslie groaned as he reached the kitchen and realized he’d have a hard time carrying a tray with his fucked up hand. But he’d have to manage, because making several trips, or asking Jacob for help were not options.

As the coffee maker burbled away, Leslie started with the sandwiches, cutting a few slices of meat and showing them haphazardly into his mouth, as he hadn’t noticed just how hungry he was. He knew Jacob well enough after a mere two weeks spent practically living with him, so he knew that he’d get barked at if he didn’t use butter. It had happened once, and it had been enough for Leslie. But all in all, he was content, because sharing a bed and a few odd hours here and there with Jacob wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined. Although a part of him was sure it was just another ploy of his Herald — but he was adamant in enjoying it before everything came crashing down. Because with Jacob it always did.

With his Herald’s permission, he’d spent a couple of hours each day helping with the Judges, or wolves. Feeding them, cleaning their cages, which was a struggle, or generally just training them so they would get accustomed to blood draws and physical exams. The less people were bitten, the happier Jacob was, and because Leslie would feel his wrath on a personal level, he made sure he was doing an excellent job.

A few nights prior Leslie had startled Jacob when he’d made a move on him. He’d thought that after the nightly routine of Jacob getting down on him, he would have to return the favor, so he’d straddled him, shower fresh and wearing nothing but a loose t-shirt, drops of water running down his neck. He'd expected to be fondled or fucked, but instead he’d gotten rejected, slapped and yelled at. It had been humiliating, and after that, he’d made sure he wasn’t even staring at Jacob for too long so he wouldn’t get pissed. He had no clue what he’d done wrong, but he wasn’t going to try approaching Jacob again anytime soon.

Leslie stared at the coffee maker, picking at the splint, which was supposed to stay in place for at least two more weeks. It wasn’t hurting anymore, only occasionally throbbing if Leslie bumped it into something, or flexed it for some stupid-ass reason. He was chewing on a piece of elk meat, when the coffee maker beeped thrice to alert him that it was done brewing. He grabbed a tray from the cabinet and began to collect the plates, mugs, cream, sugar, and the full pot of coffee on top of it. Carrying it with a broken finger was painful and balancing it was even more difficult than he had initially assumed.

He walked slowly, holding his breath every time his hands started to shake, afraid that he would manage to fling everything to the floor. With one sharp kick, he shoved the office door open and stepped inside. He was so concentrated on laying the tray at the end of Jacob’s desk, and not spilling anything, that he didn’t notice John until he’d straightened his back.

“Herald John,” he said, surprised. He averted his eyes and continued, “I’m not done yet.”

“Did I fucking hurry you?” the baptist snapped. His hand jerked, and Leslie jumped aside, his breathing hitching.

“No, not by any means. I’m sorry,” he muttered and wiped his sweaty hands against his cargo trousers, biting back a whimper as he tried to bend his finger. It was unbelievable how dense he was — he constantly forgot about the splint and tried to use his hand like he normally would. It always hurt like hell, but it didn’t teach him anything.

“Yeah, you better be sorry,” John snapped. He turned his attention back to his brother. “The Ryes, Jacob. Why am I not allowed to go and talk to them?”

“Go and complain to Joseph, alright? He’s the one to blame, not me.”

“Fine. And you! Get those done asap, and have them in my office by Friday,” the baptist said and whipped around, glaring at his brother. “Consider what I said about borrowing him.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, and said, “Yeah, yeah.” As John slammed the door behind him, he snorted and mumbled something incoherent. Trying to look like he wasn’t thinking about John’s words, Leslie poured coffee for both of them, trying to stop his hands from shaking. He glanced at his Herald, who was staring at him, his brow furrowed, like he was considering whatever John had proposed to him.

“Sir?” he asked, dropping two cubes of sugar into both their mugs. He suddenly felt nauseous.

“What?”

“Borrow who?” the Chosen asked. He leaned against Jacob’s desk, staring at the pile of sandwiches, his mind racing, as he waited for an answer.

“You.” Leslie's stomach dropped. He wanted to scream, or throw up, or die. Or all three, in that order. There was no way in hell he was going near John. He wasn’t an object to be borrowed, but if Jacob wanted to, of course, he could. Just not to John. Anyone else but the baptist.

“Would you like to?”

“Whatever you want, sir,” Leslie replied.  _ No, no, no, definitely not. _ “It’s your decision.”

Jacob reached his hand to lay it on the small of Leslie’s back. “Do you want to fuck him?” he asked and slipped his hand under the jumper, humming as he pressed his hand against Leslie’s warm skin, examining the thick, small scars which he’d caused with his belt, pleased that they were healing nicely. And he was also pleased about the fact that Leslie would always carry those scars on his back — just like he carried the old lashes splitting his soft skin.

“No.”

“You sure?” the Herald asked as he moved his hand against Leslie’s ass, his fingers twitching, because all he wanted was to slap him. “Because I can make it happen. Just say the word, and you can go and spend a night with him.”

“Please, no. I don’t want to.”

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?”

“I guess so, but—”

“You guess? So what’s the problem?” Jacob asked softly as he slid his hand between Leslie’s thighs, kneading his fingers into the soft flesh. As his Chosen squeezed his eyes shut and began to tremble, Jacob pulled his hand away and laughed. “Like I’d let him touch you. You’re mine. He can find his own.”

“Thank you,” Leslie said quietly and went back to his chair, his hands shaking and his lungs heaving. He felt like his legs would betray him, if he wouldn’t sit down. For a moment he had wanted to drop to his knees and beg that Jacob wouldn’t let John touch him. It was enough hearing some of the horror stories people had told him during the long nights of guarding the veteran’s center, or the ranch. Leslie was always on edge while patrolling around the ranch, and every time he’d seen John he’d made sure that he had someplace to be, avoiding him to the point that other guards noticed his nervous darting around the yard. Some laughed at him, but some understood why he did it.

“You really dislike him that much?” Jacob asked as he took a sandwich. He propped his elbows against the table and grinned. “You’re mine, and mine alone. He’s not touching you. That I can promise you.”

“I don’t dislike him, I… I’m afraid of him,” Leslie confessed as he began to go through the papers. He was unable to concentrate, so he laid a thin pile of sheets from his hands and sighed, pinching his brow.

“You should be. Eat and take a break.”

“Yes, sir,” the Chosen said and nearly jumped out of his chair as Jacob suddenly handed him a sandwich, his blue eyes piercing right through him. “Thank you,” he muttered and took it, trying to muster up a smile. He was still shaken about John, and even though he still felt slightly nauseous, he began to eat, staring into nothingness. He had a nagging feeling that he would get into trouble because of John at some point.

“You went to see the doctor yesterday. What did she tell ya?” Jacob asked as he took his coffee, focusing on stirring it rather than staring straight at Leslie like he’d been doing for the past few minutes. Even though his tone was casual, there was nothing casual about the question itself.

“She… She said that I can…” Leslie stammered. “That I can…” He sighed and forced himself to look at Jacob, his eyes fixating on the scars on his face. “Start having sex again.”

“Really?” the Herald asked and lifted his gaze. He looked completely emotionless, his flat stare drilling into Leslie. “If that’s true, then you must know what I’m gonna do to you tonight.”

“Yes.”

“Care to tell me in detail what you think I’m gonna do?”

Leslie winced. “Do I have to?”

Jacob hummed and shrugged. “No. Not this time. But I  _ will _ make you beg for it. One of these days you’re gonna beg me to fuck you, and you’re gonna mean it. Still have those sedatives?”

“Yes,” Leslie said and frowned. But then he added, “Why?” He didn’t want to hear the answer, but then again, not knowing would’ve sent him down the rabbit hole that was obsessive thinking, paranoia, and panic — something he wanted even less.

“Take a few. And before you ask why, well watcha think? You  _ really _ think I wanna go through that same shit again? Next time I don’t give a damn if you’re bleeding, or in pain. That won’t stop me, so you better learn how to relax.” Jacob sipped his coffee and smirked. “I mean… If you like the pain, then, by all means, you do you.” It made him feel content to see the shock on Leslie’s face. He was pale and he was shivering, his eyes wide and his lips parted, like he was about to say something, but didn’t have the courage.

Leslie’s gaze fell and he stood, just so he could reach across the desk and take his mug. He sat back down, keeping his eyes on the papers, and began to sort them again, keeping his mug away from them. There was nothing he could say, or do to prevent Jacob from fucking him again, and he was more than glad that he had sedatives. Though, that’s not all he had. Because the doctor knew exactly what had happened — Leslie hadn’t told her, she’d guessed, because she’d seen it before — so, she’d given the Chosen muscle relaxants, telling him that it was the only thing she could do. Leslie knew she was risking a lot, going behind Jacob’s back like that.

Even though Eden’s Gate wasn’t opposed to modern medicine, anything that even remotely resembled recreational use was strictly forbidden. But the doctor had explained to Jacob that mild sedatives were probably a good idea, unless the Herald wanted a panicky mess working for him. Jacob had swallowed the explanation, as he didn’t really give a shit what drugs someone used — as long as they were fit to work for him, that is — so Leslie’s sedatives didn’t interest him.

As Jacob poured himself more coffee, he asked, “Want some?”

“Yes, thank you,” Leslie replied, quickly emptying his mug, before handing it to his Herald. He sighed as he flicked his eyes back to the dull bank statements. He had no idea that Eden’s Gate could have so many papers regarding their finances. It wasn’t just bank statements, though. There were also IRS applications and sales contracts — Eden’s Gate had bought a lot of land and buildings, nearly everything in Hope County. He’d never realized just how much land they owned.

“So, these tax exemptions,” the Chosen started. “It means that Eden’s Gate wouldn’t have to pay taxes, right? Because officially it’s a religious organization?”  _ Unofficially I have no fucking idea what this shitshow is, _ he thought.

“Yeah, pretty much. Don’t get too nosy, though,” Jacob warned and handed the mug back to Leslie. “You’re just sorting them.”

“No, no. I just… I wasn’t sure what it meant. I had to ask.”

“Alright. John understands those,” the Herald said and nodded towards the papers. Then he grinned and said, “I have no fucking clue about how this works, legal-wise. And I don’t need to know. I’m not smart like my brother. Never went to a fancy school like he did.” There was a sharp edge to his voice, like he detested his brother for being educated, or like he detested himself for being uneducated. Leslie wasn’t sure which one it was.

“I… I think you’re smart,” he muttered and leaned back in his chair, holding his mug with his shaking hands. It was embarrassing how nervous he was around Jacob. “I mean… There are different kinds of smart, you know? Like… John might be good with legal crap, but… I think you’re a good teacher. And a good boss. I… It…” He sighed. “You’re smart in different ways than he is. He could never do your job, and there’s not a school that could teach all the things you teach us. I dunno. That’s just my two cents.”

“Are you trying to suck up to me?” Jacob asked, trying to hide his amusement.

Leslie’s cheeks turned bright red and he shook his head. “No, nothing like that, I just—”

“Yeah, I know what you meant. He might’ve gone to a fancy school, but when the Collapse comes, he’s gonna be fucked with his Gucci-Prada ass,” Jacob said and laughed, making Leslie laugh too. “He’s my brother, but sometimes I think… Is he really? He’s a fucking idiot. He knows all that smart-ass legal and financial shit, but real world? Nah, he’s not cut out for it.”

“Well, he’s lucky to have you, then,” Leslie said softly and laid down his mug. He held back his smile as he heard Jacob hum contently, and instead focused on the papers again. Some of them he’d managed to organize by year, but he was unsure if John wanted them to be organized by type also — because underneath all that bank crap was also a fuckton of receipts for steel, and wood, and other building materials. He decided it was best to organize everything by type, because it made no sense to have them all topsy-turvy. A lot of work, but there was no room for errors with the Seeds.

After Leslie had emptied his third mug of coffee, he got up and stretched his back, when Jacob asked, “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” the Chosen replied carefully, feeling like he was standing in a minefield.

“And who gave you permission?”

“I… What?” he asked and turned to look at his Herald, his hand on the backrest of his chair. He was sure he’d heard wrong.

“I said,” Jacob snapped and flicked his eyes to Leslie. “who gave you permission? I didn’t, that’s for sure.” He was getting turned on by the power he held, and he was glad that he was sitting so Leslie wouldn't notice how he was getting hard. There wasn’t a particular reason as to why Jacob wanted to toy with his Chosen, but it was still amusing to him.

“Uh, I… I…” Leslie stuttered. “Can I go?”

“Nope,” the Herald replied, his tone light, almost cheerful, and turned his attention back to the binder. He was jotting down something, his eyes going back and forth as he wrote a long note on the edge of the paper. Leslie stood still, staring at him, blinking in confusion. Eventually, he sat back down, squirming in his chair as he tried to focus on his work. He was clearly uncomfortable, but Jacob wasn’t even snapping at him for moving constantly, which made Leslie think that he was enjoying the situation far more than he was supposed to.

Fifteen minutes passed, which was bearable, but painful.

“Can I plea—”

“No.”

Leslie gritted his teeth, squeezing the edge of the desk. “I drank too much coffee,” he whined. “You can’t just—”

“I already said no. I didn’t force you to drink anything. Hold it in, and do your job. You’re a big boy, Leslie, you can do it.” His tone was sickeningly sweet.

“I can’t.”

“Well, you kinda have to,” Jacob said, sounding frustrated. He glanced at Leslie, his eyes narrowed. “Or I can always tell John that you won’t do what he asked, and then I’ll give him one night with you.”

Leslie flinched and quickly started to go through the papers. He wasn’t even organizing them, he was merely moving them back and forth, hoping that Jacob wouldn’t notice it. It was highly unlikely that he would, since he was focused on his work. Accompanied with a heavy sigh, Jacob suddenly slammed the binder shut, dropped it on the floor, and dug up another one. But he didn’t open it, he just left it on the desk as he got up, a smug smile plastered on his face while he adjusted his half-erect dick to a better position, his gaze fixed on Leslie.

“I’m gonna take a leak,” he said softly. “You’ll stay here. In that chair. And you won’t move an inch.” Every word that fell from his lips sounded like mockery.

“Yes, sir,” Leslie hissed between his teeth and bit down to his tongue. His stomach was hurting, his eyes nearly watering because of it. His bladder was aching, and he knew he couldn’t hold it in forever, but what other choice did he have? Nothing. There was only one option, and that was to wait until Jacob would stop torturing him. Leslie wasn’t sure what his endgame was, but he was sure it would leave him mortified when he’d finally figure it out.

With a groan he propped his elbows against the desk and pressed his face to his hands, bouncing his leg. He could hear chattering and laughter coming from outside, but it didn’t distract him enough. It felt like he'd been waiting for an eternity. Like time had stopped. But he didn't have the guts to glance at the clock, fearing that it would only cause more anxiety. When he heard the familiar, heavy footsteps from the hallway, he was ready to beg, but as Jacob came back inside the office and Leslie looked at him, he knew that begging wasn’t going to do shit. So he mustered up enough courage to ask, “Why are you doing this?”

“Why not?” the Herald asked and shrugged, like he’d been asked why he'd started knitting, or woodwork. He seemed so unfazed by the whole situation, that Leslie wanted to scream, or throw something at him, just to get a reaction.

“Can I please go?”

“No,” Jacob sighed and sat down.

“How long do I have to—”

“Until you can’t hold it in anymore.”

“Then what?” Leslie snapped, instantly regretting it, but Jacob just laughed at him, making him feel stupid and immature.

“What d’ya think? You’ll piss yourself, that’s what,” he explained with a smirk on his face.

The Chosen recoiled and his shoulders hiked up. He stared at Jacob, his eyes wide with disbelief and a slight frown on his face. Then he shook his head and muttered, “Tell me you’re joking”, as he winced and held his stomach.

“I’m not joking,” Jacob said as he flipped the binder open and took his pen, ignoring Leslie’s groans and his squirming. He was a patient man, so he just focused on his work, trying to decide who he would promote to Chosen — John needed more men, as did Joseph. And they deserved the best of the best, so Jacob had to pick the candidates carefully. Even though he was focusing on his work, he had a nearly painful erection, because his mind kept reminding him of what Leslie tasted, sounded and felt like.

Suddenly Leslie jumped up, his back arched. Jacob flicked his eyes to him and leaned back in his chair, watching as his Chosen’s whole body shook as he tried to hold his composure.

“Can I please go?” he whined, making Jacob’s dick twitch. He really loved hearing the man beg. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go, please.”

“Fine. You have my permission to go,” Jacob said, barely holding back a laugh. As Leslie turned around, he continued, “Just not outside this room.” It took him all his self-control not to touch himself. Every movement sent jolts of pleasure down his legs, as his dick rubbed against the fabric of his boxers — the friction was driving him crazy, and he liked it.

“I’ll do anything, please,” the Chosen said between his teeth, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“What if this is what I want most?”

“There has to be something else,” he pleaded and slowly turned around. “Please. Anything else.”

“Are you ashamed by any chance, Leslie?”

“Yes.”

Jacob smirked and said, “Keeps getting better.” He got to his feet, kicking the chair farther. His eyes went up and down as he walked up to Leslie, grabbing him by his waist and pulling him close. “You’re a spineless shit, you know that? You’re soft and weak. You’re just a prey, aren’t you? A prey I can bend to my will and fuck in every way imaginable.” His tone was condescending, almost belittling.

“Please.”

“Pathetic,” the Herald said softly as he moved his hand to Leslie’s crotch and grabbed his dick through his trousers, squeezing tightly. It caused small ripples of pleasure to travel through Leslie's body, and it made him sick to his stomach. “You’re a pathetic piece of—” His sentence was cut short by a surprised gasp that escaped him, as he felt the familiar wetness and heat against his palm. Leslie closed his eyes while he leaned his head against Jacob’s chest, and began to sob as his body betrayed him once again, his bladder emptying itself. He was terrified.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cried, embarrassed by the hot piss running down his thighs and soaking into his trousers. He wanted to die, to dig a hole in the backyard of the building and bury himself alive, to drown himself, or better yet, throw himself off the balcony. His whole body jerked as he considered flinging himself over the railing. But he knew he’d never do it.

“Shh,” Jacob hissed, his hand rubbing against his Chosen’s dick. “It’s okay,” he added, his free hand grabbing a tuft of Leslie’s hair and bending his head backward. Jacob kissed him, shoving his tongue deep into his mouth, nearly ecstatic over the small whines he drew out. To his overwhelming joy, he felt Leslie’s dick hardening under the rough fabric, so he undid his pants and slipped his hand inside — all the while the Chosen was still pissing himself, unable to stop, his cheeks wet with tears. He looked like he wanted to drop dead then and there, and it was the most exhilarating thing Jacob had seen in a long time.

He broke the kiss to say, “Aw, you poor thing. You pissed yourself.” He laughed and kissed Leslie again, nipping his lips while he grabbed his dick and pulled it out, his hand moving rapidly along the length, his grip so tight it hurt. To Leslie's dismay, he couldn't get everything out as his urethra was squeezed shut, making it impossible to keep going without pain. He panted into Jacob's mouth, his hips bucking against his hand as he began to shiver. His trousers were soaking wet, and now they were quickly cooling down in the cold air, making the muscles in his legs ache. He leaned back, gasping for breath, and not able to say anything, even though he did have something to tell his Herald. But he was too slow.

“Get on your knees,” Jacob ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Leslie managed to whimper and dropped down, his boots squeaking against the wet floor. The smell of his piss made him cringe, and he bit his tongue so he wouldn’t start crying again. He attacked Jacob’s belt and unbuckled it quickly, trying to get it over with as fast as possible. He forcefully tugged his Herald’s jeans down, and with one swift movement he pulled down his boxers. Leslie had never given a blowjob, but he knew the basics, so how hard could it be? He didn’t have time to think or plan his next move beyond opening his mouth, because Jacob grabbed his hair and forced his dick between his parted lips.

“Good,” the Herald murmured as Leslie gagged and began to paw at his thighs, his eyes wide and tears rolling down his cheeks. Breathing felt like an impossibility, and Leslie was beginning to panic, as he tried hard not to gag constantly. The only thing he could think of was to start taking initiative; he wrapped his fingers around Jacob’s dick and managed to pull back enough so he could breathe, spit dribbling down his chin. His Herald threaded a hand amidst his hair, rubbing at his scalp. A silent praise, a wordless compliment.

“Yes, good boy, Leslie,” Jacob muttered and laughed quietly, as Leslie’s nervously flicking tongue brushed against his dick, sending ripples of pleasure up his spine. He was genuinely worried that his legs would give in, when he bucked his hips and made Leslie gag again. It was adorable how hard he was trying, not pathetic as Jacob had assumed. It was all too much; the lust that had been building up for a while, the hot, wet mouth enveloping his dick, and Leslie’s near-painful sucking.

“Fuck!” Jacob suddenly exclaimed, his hips jerking forward. He could hardly stand straight, and he was gasping for breath. “You’re such a good boy, Leslie. Keep going. You're gonna have to swallow everything. You can do it, you're a—" He groaned and tore at Leslie's hair when the pleasure knocked the air from his lungs. He came with a low whine, rutting his dick deep into his Chosen’s mouth, making him gag and claw at the floor, as his mouth was filled by thick cum.

As Leslie started to sound like he was choking, Jacob shoved him backward, nearly knocking him over. The Chosen doubled down and spat and coughed, gagging as the thick, viscous cum stuck to the roof of his mouth. It tasted bitter and salty, almost like some sort of chemical. It was a nasty taste, but even at that moment, he knew he'd have to get used to it. The thought alone would’ve made him gag, and he was genuinely afraid that he would throw up. It was disgusting, vile and unnatural. But the praises he’d gotten lessened the disgust he felt. When he was done spitting and coughing, he was leaning against his thighs, his eyes watery. He felt nasty; his trousers were wet, his hands stained with piss and he’d managed to get spit and cum to his jumper. Leslie carefully got to his feet, wiping his mouth, surprised when his Herald helped him by pulling him upright by his arms.

"That was good," Jacob said, brushing his wet fingers against his Chosen's cheek, staining his skin. He was still panting, with a content expression on his face.

"It… It was my first time."

Jacob laughed. "Oh? Well, then… Great job. You deserve a reward." He knelt, and to Leslie's horror, he wrapped his fingers around his dick and was about to guide it into his mouth, when he was startled by a shrill scream.

“No! No, no, no. Please don’t. Let me wash up first,” the Chosen begged, flailing his arms as he had no idea what to do with them. He wanted to hit Jacob, but he knew it would land him in serious trouble, so he just dug his nails into his palms.

"What? Why? Does the idea disgust you?"

"Yes!" He sounded like he was on the verge of having a panic attack.

"Is that so?" Jacob asked and ran his tongue along the length of Leslie's dick, making him whimper. The familiar taste of piss filled his mouth, and he bit back a moan. He enjoyed it more than he was ever going to admit to anyone — Herald Jacob enjoying a dirty, degrading act like that? His men would have a field day, and Joseph would most likely have a heart attack. The thought made him chuckle, and he didn’t even realize just how crazy it must’ve seemed to Leslie.

“That's disgusting. Please, just don’t!” Leslie could only watch as his Herald ran his tongue along his dick again and again — it seemed like he wasn't bothered by the fact that it was covered in piss and precum. Leslie wanted to scream. "Please, stop it,” he tried once more, his voice breaking apart by pleasure.

Jacob didn't stop; he took his Chosen’s dick into his mouth, gently grazing his teeth against the soft flesh. Leslie couldn't look away, not that he was even allowed to avert his eyes anymore. He was panting, and he could feel the pressure building up, as Jacob's tongue teased the tip of his dick, pressing against the opening of his urethra, before his free hand found its way between his legs. Leslie wobbled and whined, as Jacob cupped his balls — he'd found out how much his Chosen liked it when he massaged them.

Leslie began to roll his hips, his thighs trembling; he just wanted to get out of the situation quickly, even if it meant having to watch as Jacob swallowed his cum — he'd seen it multiple times, but it still disgusted him. It was the only part which he was still unable to stomach, even though he'd gotten used to his Herald getting down on him.

Jacob could feel that his jeans were getting soaked, because he was, after all, kneeling in a puddle of cold piss. But he didn’t care, because he had Leslie who would have to clean it up, so it didn’t bother him in the slightest. The only thing he was worried about was that if someone would suddenly drop by the office. He was worried and turned on by the thought that they might get caught — Leslie’s shame pooled on the floor, and his dick in his Herald’s mouth — it was a twisted image.

Suddenly Jacob pulled back and got to his feet, as he’d felt the familiar twitch and heard the familiar keen which indicated that Leslie was near. He patted his Chosen’s cheek and said, “Clean yourself, and this floor. If it’s not clean by the time I get back, you’re gonna have to lick it clean.” He glanced down at his wet jeans and the stained floor, letting out a small chuckle as Leslie’s dick twitched. “You’re a good boy.” He didn’t know it, but every praise sent a jolt of delight through his Chosen.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you don’t have my permission to cum. You can wait until tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie replied, his tone slightly frustrated, as he wasn’t able to hide it.

“Good. When you’re done cleaning, continue working,” Jacob said as he yanked his jeans up. “I’m gonna be back later. I want you in my bed… Let’s say around four, medicated, and ready for me. Am I clear?”

The Chosen hung his head, his eyes squeezed shut, and whispered, “Yes, sir.”

~***~

“No,” Jacob snapped, pushing John farther, almost knocking him out of balance. “Seriously, you’ve been bugging me all fucking day.” He leaned against his truck and shook his head, the floodlights of the ranch behind him creating a halo around his head. He was already late, but he just couldn’t shake his little brother. The snow was falling slowly from the sky, large flakes covering the windshield, and melting into John’s beard.

“Well, you’ve been hanging around here all day.”

“Not all day, John.”

“Whatever. Just let me borrow him,” the baptist said, yet again, and shifted his weight, trying to keep warm. He hopped a couple of times, but stopped when Jacob frowned, like he didn’t approve of such childish behavior.

“For the last time, no. What the fuck? Can’t I have anything for myself? Keep your filthy paws off him. He is  _ mine _ John, and there’s fuck all you can do about that.”

“I’m telling Joseph.”

Jacob burst out laughing; a condescending laugh that made John’s face contort with anger, as he crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. He felt like he was being treated like a child — he was an adult, despite the age difference he and his brothers had. But Jacob didn’t seem to realize it; he just kept laughing and smacking his thigh.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he said, wiping off imaginary tears, just to annoy his brother. “Like I give a shit about his fuckin’ rules.”

“You should.”

“We both know that the problem Joseph has with me isn’t the premarital sex part of what I’m doing. It’s the I’m fucking a guy part that he hates. But, kiddo, I’m gonna go now,” Jacob said and pushed himself upright. John stepped backward as he pulled the car door open. “I have somewhere to be.”  _ And someone to do. _

“Well if that’s the problem, why isn’t he pissed with me?”

“Because,” Jacob said as he hopped inside, wiping snow off his shoulders. “you’re our baby brother.” He smiled. “There’s nothing you could do to make us hate you. Get inside and get some sleep, you look like shit.”

“What?” John asked and blinked, looking slightly horrified.

Jacob snorted. “I’m fucking with you. You look perfect, as always.” It wasn’t strictly a compliment; it was a veiled insult, which his vain brother would never get. Jacob shook his head as he slammed the door shut and started the car. When he peeled off, he waved his hand to John, who stared after him with his brow furrowed. He shivered and headed inside, rubbing his arms. Winters were, after all, harsh in Montana, and his silk shirt didn’t manage to keep the cold at bay.

“That fucking dumbass,” Jacob said to himself as he tore along the snow-covered roads, the bright beams of his truck piercing through the darkness. His mind was already at the veteran’s center, and his skin tingled from anticipation. It was a bit weird that even though it was nearly six, he hadn’t heard a peep from Leslie. He had a backup radio in his bedroom, and he was pretty sure he’d shown the Chosen where it was.

It was highly unusual that Jacob was late; he was an extremely punctual man. He was late because he was nervous. Although he’d managed to convince himself that his nervousness had nothing to do with his tardiness. For the past three hours, he’d been dawdling at the ranch, barking orders at his men, bitching to John and generally just wasting time, constantly pretending he had important things to do. He grimaced and shook the nervousness aside, and instead focused on the night and what lay ahead.

Oh, how pathetic and meek Leslie had been earlier during the day. It had been the first time anyone had opted to humiliate themselves — usually, people were far more willing to disobey and take a beating than piss themselves. Not that Jacob was complaining; he’d rather see Leslie humiliated, than bruised, but then again, causing bruises and splitting the soft, white skin held a certain appeal to him. He had no idea what he wanted to do first. Of course, he wanted to fuck Leslie until he couldn’t even remember his name, but at the same time, he craved for blood. He wanted to hear his Chosen scream in pain, to see him bleed, to see him cum over and over again until he’d lose his mind.

Time was something Jacob had a lot in his hands, and he was glad that he did. He could do all sorts of things to Leslie, he’d just have to figure out in what order. Despite him being a meek little shit, Jacob was sure he was more resilient than anyone else had been. Some people just weren’t cut out to serve anyone’s purpose, and then some, like Leslie, were easy to mold into whatever purpose one desired.

Jacob needed his men to be tough and resilient. Weakness was something he frowned upon, and he’d seen the blooming weakness in Leslie months ago. It wasn’t that he was too kind, or too merciful, but he was too easily swayed, too easily talked into doing things he wasn’t comfortable doing. And not just by his Herald; Jacob wasn’t sure who and where someone had fucked him, but he’d seen the hickeys, and noticed the thick smell of sex when he’d walked past his Chosen a few months back. He’d also seen the nervous ticks and heard the sliver of fear in his voice. The who didn’t matter that much, although Jacob was curious. He’d have to ask at some point, or better yet, lure the information out somehow. With booze, for example.

Even the thought of someone else having their dick inside that tight hole of Leslie’s turned Jacob on. If there was something he wanted to see, it was someone else using his Chosen as they pleased — the only problem was that actually going through with the plan would be nearly impossible, because Jacob was far too possessive to ever let that happen. No one else had the right to touch his things — and Leslie most certainly was one of his things. Even fantasizing about it made him annoyed and pissed off afterward.

The yard was quiet and deserted when Jacob drove through the gates and parked his truck. A Judge dug a snowbank enthusiastically, most likely it was trying to catch a squirrel, or a rat, with snow spraying between its hindlegs. Two guards were hanging just outside the front door, and they both greeted their Herald as he walked past them. And like always, Jacob ignored them, not even bothering to look at them. When he climbed the stairs to get to his quarters, he glanced around, making sure that no one was near him, before pulling a small bottle of pills from his pocket. And as always, the subtle rattling of the pills made his cheeks burn with shame.

His job  _ was _ stressful, he told himself. He had a lot of duties, a lot of people he was responsible for. On top of it all, Joseph was breathing down his neck every chance he got, and John kept giving him more stress because of the problems with the IRS, and so on. So, it was only natural that he would need a little something to help him with a certain dysfunction — like small, blue pills, that he shamefully popped into his mouth, disgusted by his weakness. He was Jacob fucking Seed and he couldn’t keep it up. Embarrassing, to say the least. It wasn’t like he didn’t have any needs — he did, and a lot of them — but it had grown annoyingly clear that no matter how much he wanted to, he was unable to fuck anyone without some help. Jerking off? No problem. But  _ knowing _ that he’d have to fuck Leslie made him anxious.

_ It’s psychological. Performance anxiety, _ the doctor had said.  _ There’s nothing wrong with you physically. You’re anxious and stressed, that's why you have these problems. _

_ Stressed? Sure, but I’m not anxious, _ Jacob had thought.  _ Just a bit nervous, I guess. _

That one time Leslie had made a move, and had actually seemed rather eager, Jacob had been forced to smack him around a bit. And he had been frustrated and embarrassed, because Leslie wasn’t supposed to make any moves. He was supposed to fucking do whatever he was told, not suddenly straddle his Herald, smelling so amazingly desirable that it had made Jacob’s head spin. And his weight, his warmth, and his soft breaths had been like torture.

Jacob wanted to yell, or break something. Instead, he flung his bedroom door open and stepped inside, startling Leslie. He was leaning against the headboard, and he lifted his eyes from the book he was reading to give a small smile. Jacob slammed the door shut, taking a deep breath, trying hard not to unravel on his Chosen. It had been a bad idea to decide that he was going to fuck Leslie that particular night, but saying it out loud had been even worse of an idea. He’d been dreading it ever since he’d opened his stupid mouth, because after all, there was a chance that he’d fail.

“Hey,” Leslie said softly and closed the book. He set it on the nightstand, and tilted his head as he stared at his Herald, like he was waiting for instructions. “Is everything alright?” he asked carefully, treading on thin ice.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jacob snapped and shucked off his jacket. He hung it on the coat rack, keeping his eyes on his Chosen, whose loose t-shirt revealed his scarred shoulder.

“I… You were late. That’s all.”

“Who the fuck said I have a curfew?”

Leslie turned his attention to his hands and replied, “No one. I’m sorry.”

The Herald scoffed and walked up to the bed while he pulled off his jumper, along with the dog tags and the rabbit’s foot. He threw them on the floor and sighed. As he kicked his boots off and unbuckled his belt, Leslie glanced at him, his eyes glazed and his skin damp with sweat. At least Jacob wasn’t the only one nervous, and he was glad about it — something he would never admit to anyone.

“Undress,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Leslie pulled off his shirt and threw it on the floor. It was the only thing he was wearing, Jacob realized, and he smirked. Leslie didn’t dare to look at his Herald, instead he began to yank a short thread that was sticking out of the blanket he’d covered himself up with. He was trembling, and he started to shake when Jacob climbed into bed and yanked the blanket from his lap.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he murmured, pulling Leslie’s legs apart and kneading his fingers into the soft flesh on his thighs, making his breathing hitch. “Do you remember what I said earlier?”

“Yes.”

“So, you didn’t jerk off?” the Herald asked, inching his hand closer to Leslie’s dick.

“No.”

“Good boy,” he replied with a sly smile as he wrapped his fingers around his Chosen's dick, thinking that it was funny how arousing a flaccid dick could be. Leslie keened and closed his eyes, his breathing already ragged as he pressed against the headboard. "I'm proud of you," Jacob continued, moving his hand slowly, brushing the loose skin with his thumb.

“I… I’m sorry.”

“About what? What did you do now?”

"I can't do this. I don't want to. Please don't make me," Leslie said, his voice breaking down. He opened his eyes and shot a pleading look at Jacob. "Please don't."

Jacob snorted. "I'll make you a deal. I won't fuck you if you put on a little show for me."

All color drained from Leslie's face, and he barely managed to ask, “A show?”

“You know… A show. I wanna see you cum.” He grinned. “So, if you jerk off while fingering yourself, I won't fuck you. You can decide which one you prefer. My dick, or your fingers.”

Leslie was horrified. He was gasping for breath, and he wanted to cry. What was he supposed to say? What the fuck was he supposed to do? There was no way he could make himself cum while Jacob watched. It just wasn't possible. He started to panic; his breathing was rapid and his heart thudded loudly in his ears as he tried to figure out what to say, distracted by Jacob's fingers rubbing against his dick. He was getting hard again, and it was every bit as embarrassing and disgusting as it had always been.

“I…” he finally started. “I want you to fuck me.” The other option would’ve most likely made him throw up, so it most definitely wasn’t on the table.

“Oh? Very well then. Remember, you asked for this,” Jacob said and laughed quietly. “Hand me the lube would ya?”

“Yes, sir.” He nabbed the bottle and handed it to his Herald, averting his eyes.

“And move. Get on your back.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie whispered and shuffled downwards so he could lie down and straighten his back. He bent his legs and pressed his thighs together, as if it would prevent Jacob from doing whatever the fuck he pleased. His Herald noticed it, and he rolled his eyes as he forced his hand between Leslie’s knees, humming contentedly as he caved in and spread his legs, his cheeks red with shame, his eyes damp with fear.

Jacob grinned as he slathered his fingers with lube and brought his hand between Leslie’s legs. His whole body tensed, but only momentarily, and he let out a small whimper. When he closed his eyes, Jacob snapped, “Open your eyes! You’re gonna look at me, no matter what part of my body is inside of you. Is that clear?”

Leslie couldn’t even say anything, he just nodded, his eyes wide and small tears trickling out, soaking into the pillow. Jacob settled between his legs while he pressed a finger inside his Chosen, satisfied by the lack of resistance. It made him confident enough to add another finger, but it was too much for Leslie; his back arched and he tried to back away, his legs kicking in panicked motions. Jacob was having none of it. He grabbed Leslie by his arm and hissed, his nails digging into his skin.

“Stay still.”

“No, no, please don’t. I—”

“Shut up.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. Just be a good boy for me, and stay still,” Jacob muttered and began to move his fingers back and forth. “Relax. You can’t fight this.”

“Please.” It was almost inaudible.

“You do know that begging makes me hard?” the Herald asked softly as he flicked his gaze down to take in the sight. He pulled his fingers out and slid them back in slowly, and turned to look at Leslie’s eyes again. “Try screaming if you want. My men will probably hear you. Fuck, some of them will probably  _ enjoy _ hearing your pathetic screams. But no one will come to rescue you. Because they never do.” He flexed his fingers, and clearly hit some kind of a sweet spot, because Leslie’s hips jerked up and he covered his mouth to prevent whines from escaping him. It didn’t work, though, so he dropped his hand and let out a low whine, which made him sound like a dog that was being kicked.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly, and moaned as Jacob flexed his fingers again. His body wasn’t his, it was something foreign, something that bad been assigned to him, but it was also something he held no control over. It was horrifying.

“Because I can.”

“Pick someone else, please,” Leslie said, his voice thick with tears. “I beg of you, please. Just… There has to be someone who's willing, you—”

“Mmh, I could, yes. But I don’t want anyone else,” Jacob replied. He then added, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “Only you, Leslie.” A veiled threat, which Leslie immediately realized, and he forced himself to breathe deeply, so he wouldn’t panic. He knew that Jacob was most likely ready to get his music box and play that wretched song just to fuck with him, if he’d keep begging, or otherwise anger him.

“Why me?” It slipped out. Jacob tugged his fingers out and smacked Leslie with the back of his hand, making him cry out in pain as his head jerked to the side. As he turned his head to meet his Herald’s gaze again, his eyes were wide as dinner plates, his lips parted as he panted, trying to make sense of the situation. What made him feel so terrified wasn’t the act itself, but the emotion behind it. Hate. Pure, unfiltered hate.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jacob snarled and leaned over his Chosen, forcing his fingers back inside of him. “Stop resisting. Stop asking stupid fucking questions. Stop mocking me.”

“I’m not—”

“Shut up.”

Leslie’s legs trembled as Jacob forced a third finger in, but he quickly took it out, as he realized that doing too much damage to his insides would result him in being in horrid pain and completely useless. To hide his annoyance Jacob leaned closer to kiss him, shoving his tongue between the soft lips, pressing it as deep as he could. He knew he was a good kisser, and soon part of Leslie’s fear melted away and he began to reciprocate. As Jacob felt his muscles relaxing, he eased a third finger inside as steadily as he could. When he noticed how receptive Leslie was, he moaned; he was still tight, but that panicky resistance wasn't there anymore. Now he was soft, and nearly limp, and Jacob realized he wasn’t sure what had shifted. As long as he could get off, he’d be content. How it happened didn’t matter.

When Jacob broke the kiss, Leslie’s eyes were half-shut, and he’d stopped shaking. He was lying still, his chest heaving and his lips wet and swollen. Jacob shuffled downwards, so he could slide his tongue along his Chosen’s neck — he recalled how much he enjoyed it. He briefly nipped at Leslie’s earlobe, making him gasp and squirm. Jacob smirked and trailed his tongue downwards, and as he slid his tongue over Leslie’s nipple, it was like he’d given him an electric shock — he tensed briefly, and his muscles tightened around Jacob’s fingers as he let out a keen. Jacob grinned and licked his nipple again to draw out that same, alluring reaction.

“You like this?” he muttered against Leslie’s chest, teasing his cold skin with his teeth.

A breathy, “Yes”, which made chills run down Jacob’s spine.

“Good.” He enjoyed finding buttons that he could press to cause either pleasure, discomfort, or pain. Pain was easiest. Discomfort was pretty easy too. But pleasure — it needed a bit of skill, and a lot of luck, especially with a stuck-up bitch like Leslie. He would never tell Jacob what he liked if he even knew what he liked.

Adding a fourth finger made Leslie’s hips jerk, and that’s when Jacob noticed that his dick resting against his stomach was hard. Clearly being a bit more gentle with him was a better way of getting laid. Still, Jacob needed his blood. Without warning, he sank his teeth into Leslie’s flank, just below his ribcage. He screamed. And it wasn’t just any kind of scream, but that bloodcurdling, shrill scream which was caused by the sudden onset of sheer terror and pain. That single scream pierced through the thin windows and made the blood freeze in everyone’s veins who heard it. His whole body tensed up like the string of a violin, and when he stopped screaming, he held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Then the pain eased, when Jacob let go, his mouth full of the familiar salty and metallic taste of blood. He licked his lips, but it didn’t stop the blood from soaking into his beard.

“Please, don’t do that—”

“Did you already forget what I said?”

“I—”

“Shut the hell up.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie whispered and draped an arm over his eyes, listening as a wolf howled somewhere in the premises. Jacob let him. He pulled his fingers out, making his Chosen cry out. It wasn’t pain, but fear; he knew what was coming next, and there was fuck all he could do about it. Begging wasn’t working. Neither would fighting, or struggling in general. He could never fight Jacob off; he was far stronger, and far more experienced.

So, Leslie did the only thing he could think of; he kept his eyes closed, focusing solely on his breathing, and the rippling pleasure which filled him when he felt Jacob’s hands moving along his thighs, and finally slipping against his ass. His Herald lifted his hips a bit, and suddenly he was pressing inside. Jacob propped himself up with his arms, his breath hot and damp against Leslie’s cheek. As Leslie moved his arm, he locked eyes with his Herald. Something flashed in his blue eyes, but it was quickly gone, and he leaned closer for a kiss again. A reward. Jacob’s dick slid deeper, and on a whim, Leslie wrapped his legs around his Herald. It eased the burning enough that pleasure was able to take over. He didn’t want it. But it felt good. In another life, another moment, yes, maybe he could’ve wanted it. But not with his scars, not with his fears and his disgust towards himself. He balled the sheets into his hand, like he was trying to tether his sanity into the bed. To him it felt like the springs inside the mattress beneath him were fish hooks, and he was the fish; just nourishment for a predator. He was a prey to be eaten, the remains then discarded, his bones and his tendons useless. He couldn’t understand why Jacob did what he did, so he merely swallowed his tears, knowing very well that he could cry later. Like he’d done every single night, but little did he know, that Jacob always heard him.

“You’re a good boy, Leslie,” Jacob muttered against his lips as he finally managed to push fully inside. He savored the feeling as he kissed his Chosen again, hungrily nipping at his lips, the tightness and the heat overwhelming him.

Once abused, always abused, Leslie thought. Maybe it was true. It was sickening that he was feeling pleasure at that moment. It wasn’t what he wanted, not by a long shot. He wanted to cry. The urge to just break down and scream was so powerful, that a single sob escaped him. Jacob smothered it with his mouth, not even realizing it was a sob when he began to roll his hips. His movements were slow, almost calculated, and just when Leslie relaxed and thought that the feeling of his Herald’s dick sliding in and out was tolerable, he suddenly picked up his pace and broke the kiss.

“I told you before,” Jacob snarled. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.” Leslie hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes. He opened them, his brow slightly furrowed and his forehead damp. He brought his hands to Jacob’s shoulders, caressing his rough skin, trying to calm himself down by drawing circles against his Herald’s skin. And it did manage to calm him down. So much so, that the panic began to melt away. It didn’t resurface, partially because Jacob kissed him again, and his tongue was distracting. It drew out Leslie’s fear and his panic, pulling them out inch by inch until there was nothing left but a soft, rhythmic panting that Leslie didn’t even recognize as being his own.

But then Jacob pulled out and patted his Chosen’s thighs, breaking that veil of denial that Leslie had managed to hang up. “Turn around and get on your knees,” he said sternly, yet softly. Leslie sat up slowly, even though he was afraid that Jacob would get annoyed by his sluggishness. He didn’t. Instead, he waited patiently until he had turned around and propped himself up with his knees and his arms, his head hanging and his back slightly arched. Like cattle waiting to be prodded and slaughtered.

“Good,” Jacob said, his tone warm. He held onto Leslie’s hips with one hand, while he guided his dick against his hole with the other. A moan tore through his lungs as he pressed inside, gasping for air, his head spinning and his mind blank. The only thing he could concentrate on was the heat of his Chosen. So, he began to fuck him. First slowly, but then he angled himself into a better position, grabbed Leslie’s hips tightly and began to rut harshly inside.

“There.” It was so quiet, that it almost escaped Jacob. He grinned as Leslie whined, his arms trembling, as he found that sweet spot again.

“Like this?” Jacob managed to mutter, as he shoved his dick inside. Leslie was unable to reply, as the pleasure knocked the air from his lungs, but his gasps were enough of an answer to Jacob. As he moved his hips in a steady, rapid motion, he occasionally hissed as Leslie tightened around his dick, sending jolts of red-hot pleasure down his legs. It was unbelievably arousing hearing the soft whimpers falling ever so shamelessly from Leslie’s lips. It was like he didn’t give a shit anymore. And in a way he didn’t, because to get through the pleasure he had to focus solely on it. As he did just that, he was able to ignore the fact that it wasn’t consensual. No matter how much pleasure he was in, it was, and never would, change the fact that he didn’t want it.

But he’d rather enjoy it than be in a constant state of panic. Sure, the meds helped, but it was partially thanks to the fact that he wanted to survive, to keep his sanity. And to be able to do so, he had to take in the pleasure. He wasn’t in a lot of pain; sure the bite wound on his flank was aching, but it was a lot less than he’d been expecting.  _ Focus on the good, Leslie, _ he thought.  _ Just like before. _

“Fuck!” Jacob suddenly snarled. He stopped moving, his nails digging painfully into Leslie’s skin and he let out a single groan as he came. For a brief moment, he kept still, but then he started to move again. Just a primal instinct to make sure every last drop would get as deep as possible. His hips bucked again and again, until the last waves of pleasure flowed over him, leaving behind an empty echo. He slowly pulled back, and let go of his Chosen, who instantly crawled farther, and collapsed in the corner of the bed. His cheeks were streaked with dried tears, his thighs stained with his cum, his side and his stomach blotched with blood. He stared at Jacob with a blatant expression of distrust written across his face.

Guilt. Jacob hissed and pushed it aside, grabbing the covers and throwing them over Leslie. He was shivering, goosebumps all over his body, and he looked extremely tired, with black circles around his eyes, now fixed on the blood-stained sheets.

It would’ve been easier for Jacob if Leslie had just fought back. But that meek, harrowingly depressing obedience felt off. It didn’t sit right with him. He shook the nasty feeling that he had all over his body and plopped to his back. With a sigh, he rolled to his side and patted the sheets. Leslie sniffled and reluctantly crawled closer, dragging the covers with him. The bed was big enough for more than two people, but like every night, Leslie wanted to feel someone close. As he literally had no other choice than Jacob, he had to make do.

“You’re a good boy,” Jacob murmured, draping an arm over Leslie, as he shuffled closer, pressing his wet forehead against his chest. “You did good.” He suddenly felt drained, and it wasn’t a surprise. He’d been up well before dawn, and he’d been running around his region, as well as John’s region. It was his job, yes, but he wasn’t twenty anymore, and he felt like he deserved a break from everything. Which gave him an idea.

“Leslie.”

“Yes, sir?” he muttered against his Herald’s chest, his arms awkwardly folded between their bodies.

“I’ll take some time off, and we’ll go to the mountains.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna take some time off. Soon, I hope. We’ll hike deeper into the wilderness. There’s this cabin, so we’ll spend a few days up there.”

“Okay,” Leslie replied meekly, not even daring to think what would happen then, when there were no witnesses.

“As soon as that splint comes off, we’ll go.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, that’s settled then. G’night, Leslie.”

“Good night,” he said quietly, his tone flat, as Jacob threaded his fingers amidst his damp hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! send a kudos or scribble a comment if you can.


	4. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You did good, Leslie. Such a good little soldier, aren’t ya? You’re so handsome, especially now. I’m proud of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly hope this fic'll stay up now.
> 
> song rec: Eifersucht by Rammstein

_You look handsome._

Leslie had no fucking idea why Jacob had said it. His grip on the wheel tightened, and he groaned, annoyed at himself for obsessing over a compliment. The drive from the veteran’s center to the ranch wasn’t long, but it was long enough for him to grow panicky. He glanced at the box on the passenger’s seat, and his stomach twisted into a tight knot. Why he had to go and meet John alone was beyond him, but Jacob had better things to do than chaperone him. His Herald’s exact words.

The roads were full of freshly fallen snow, which was like cotton under the chain-covered wheels. Snow had evened the bumps in the road, but Leslie would rather drive on a bumpy road than an icy one. Every time the wheels spun on empty, milliseconds before the chains bit down to the ice below, he felt like slamming the brakes and calling it quits. He hated driving, and he especially hated driving during winter. Although he didn’t have a license, he’d been driving since he was sixteen, and was rather good at it. He still hated every second, no matter how good he was. And driving a huge-ass pickup truck was not sitting right with him.

Soon he’d have to meet John fucking Seed again. He was terrifying, and Leslie felt nauseous because he knew he’d have to spend the day with the man he feared most in the whole world. Sure, it was just paperwork, and whatnot, and Jacob had promised that there would be other guards present. But what the fuck did it matter? John would do as he pleased, no matter who, if anyone, was present. The only one who could possibly stop him from acting out, besides Jacob of course, was Joseph, and they were both busy that day.

The compliment made no sense because Leslie was wearing his Chosen uniform; black cargo trousers, red jumper, and a thick winter coat. He looked perfectly normal. Still, Jacob had been surprisingly handsy with him, barely letting him out the door and into the cold morning. He could still feel the lingering warmth of his Herald’s lips on his neck, and his cheek, and the imprints of his hands on his back and his thighs. Leslie hadn’t even tried to hide his reluctance, as he’d walked out the door. It had made Jacob grin and shake his head, as he focused on his paperwork, the balcony doors open, like they always were.

Armed with a pistol, a knife and a radio clipped to his belt, Leslie hopped out of the truck, which he'd parked close to the front door of the ranch, placed in a way that he could peel off if needed without having to turn the car around. John was nowhere to be seen, and as Leslie grabbed the box from the seat and kicked the door shut, a guard waved to him and said, “Herald John is in his office waiting for you”, as she opened the front door to her colleague, with pity in her eyes.

“Thanks,” Leslie replied curtly as he walked past the guard, and into the chalet. He had to place the box on the floor momentarily, so he could close the door. Then he grabbed the box again and headed upstairs, where the office was located. As his boots hit the hardwood floor and the steps creaked under his weight, a nasty feeling filled him. The chalet was empty. All of the guards were outside, and even though it wasn’t unusual, it was a bit alarming. Leslie was sure that something bad would happen, but he brushed it off, as he thought he was just being paranoid.

The office door was open so he marched inside, catching John's attention with a curt “Morning”. He placed the cardboard box on the mahogany desk and forced a saccharine smile. The office was governed by the large desk, with bookshelves behind it, also made with dark wood with a subtle reddish hue. Leslie felt extremely out of place, as his boots sank into the ridiculously soft carpet, which probably cost more than he’d ever earned in a month, or two.

“What?” John snapped as he pulled the box closer and glanced inside. Then he just shrugged and said, “Put it on the floor.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie replied and moved the box close to the office door, annoyed that John wasn’t even going to check if everything was organized properly. After all, he’d spent a lot of time on it, including one sleepless night. As he straightened his back and turned around, he caught the baptist glaring at him. The whole situation felt off, but the only thing Leslie could do was hope that he could leave soon. He smiled again, staring at the bookshelves, as he couldn’t make himself meet the cold eyes staring at him.

“So. You’re Jacob’s newest plaything?” John asked and leaned back in his chair. He hummed and continued, “I mean… I get why he chose you.” Leslie had no idea if it was an insult, or just an observation. As he said or did nothing except stare, John added, “Well? What the fuck are you waiting for?”

“Oh. Did you not need me anymore?” the Chosen asked and took a step towards the door, unsure of what John wanted from him.

“No. What the hell? Close the door and come here.”

“Right away, sir,” Leslie said hastily and obeyed. For a split second, he thought about running. He stared into the hallway, and shut the door, effectively trapping himself inside the room with John. Trying hard not to let his fear show, he turned around and walked up to the desk, but kept it between him and the baptist, once again staring right past him, his arms hanging uselessly against his sides.

“Are you dumb?”

“I… Excuse me?”

“I said, come here.” To emphasize what he meant, John tapped his thigh with his fingers. He frowned as Leslie didn’t move a muscle. “Are you defying a direct order?”

“Jacob, he—”

“What of him? He gave me permission. Why do you think you’re here?” He laughed and shook his head. “You’re just a piece of meat. Now come here.”

_Like I’d let him touch you. You’re mine._

Liar, Leslie thought as he circled the desk, his heart thudding in his ears, his mouth suddenly dry. There was less than a foot between him and John, but the baptist quickly bridged the short distance; he grabbed Leslie by his wrist, digging his manicured nails into his skin. And he pulled. Leslie wavered, but didn’t move an inch. His eyes were wide, and his muscles like concrete.

_He’s not touching you. That I can promise you._

All lies, Leslie was sure of it. He winced as John tugged at his arm, but refused to move. It was like he was glued to the floor by fear, all his muscles rigid.

“What the hell are you doing?” the baptist hissed. His grip was tight, his eyes expressionless. He was getting frustrated, and Leslie saw it.

“I… I’ll have to radio Herald Jacob and—”

“And what?”

“If I can just… He… Uh…” Leslie stammered. _What the fuck, what the actual fuck am I supposed to say?_ “If I can just check with him. I don’t wish to anger him.”

John smiled with way too many teeth as he stood abruptly, his fingers still wrapped around Leslie’s wrist. He said softly, “There’s no need for that. I already told you, I have his permission. Don't worry, I’ll be sure not to leave marks. Well, at least not a lot of them.” His free hand he brought to Leslie’s cheek, caressing it with his thumb, before jerking his hand backward and slapping the Chosen. John grinned at the whimper he’d enticed, craving for more.

“Herald John…” Leslie started, confused as to what he’d done to deserve a slap. It wasn’t a particularly hard one, but he felt like a mouse that a cat plays with before finally sinking its teeth into the neck of its prey. He had no idea what to say next, so he just stared, his eyes wide.

“You don’t understand now, do you? You’re breaking Joseph’s rules, that’s the problem.”

“No, I… I…”

“Yes, yes you are. No fornicating… Remember? But my dear brother is fucking you, isn’t that right? He’s fucking you, and you like it. Joseph lets him get away with it, but that doesn’t extend to you. You _are_ breaking his rules. And you need to be punished.”

“No. I don’t want to. I hate it. I hate him.” _Do I really? Do I really hate how he holds me at night? How he tells me I’m good, and just this morning, he said I was handsome. No one’s ever told me that before._ “I can’t do this. Please don’t make me do anything.” _Because I’d rather die than let you touch me._ “I don’t want to.” Leslie felt like he had to try pleading, even though he was sure it wouldn’t work. Yes, he was breaking the rules and yes, he knew he’d have to be punished. But not by John. Anyone else but him. At that moment he swore he'd come clean to Joseph, to take his punishment rather than John's. The Father was merciful after all — at least compared to his brothers.

“The more you resist, the harder the punishment. It doesn’t matter if you want to, or not, because you will do as I say. It’s your purpose after all, isn’t it?” Leslie shook his head. No, his purpose was to obey and please Jacob, not his little brother.

_You look handsome._

Jacob had said it with a low, hushed voice, tardily jerking Leslie off, his lips teasing his neck, his free arm wrapped around him, drawing abstract designs against his stomach. _Handsome._ That’s what he had said. _You’re a good boy,_ Jacob had murmured, when he’d licked the cum off his fingers, his blue eyes surprisingly warm, one hand threaded amidst Leslie’s hair. Compliment after compliment. Was he just a piece of meat? Served on a silver platter, ready to be devoured by whoever wished to do so. If that was the case, he'd rather be devoured by Jacob than John.

“Please, let me go,” Leslie begged, but he knew it wouldn’t help. There was nothing he could do to stop the wheels from turning. His muscles were tense, and he tried to shake the baptist off. But he just laughed, his lips now a mere inch from the Chosen’s. His breath was warm, and it smelled like berries. He tasted like berries, Leslie realized, when the baptist suddenly kissed him. He wanted to throw up, that’s how nauseating it was.

No, it wasn’t the same as kissing Jacob, like he had thought just a second ago. John was violent, his teeth were sharp, his hands were beginning to tear his clothes off. Leslie’s jacket fell to the floor, and John's hands were cold as he slipped them under the soft jumper, his nails sharp as he dug them into the warm flesh. The baptist was getting annoyed by the squirming and the salty tears which started to run down Leslie's cheeks — he couldn't understand why he was crying. He hadn't even done anything yet, so there was no reason to cry. There would be plenty of reason to cry later.

John broke the kiss and said, “Let's go to my bedroom, shall we? I wanna hear you scream my name for a change.” As he leaned closer to kiss Leslie again, he was promptly shoved backward. That same sudden panic that had resulted in a broken finger flared up inside Leslie because he would rather die than get in bed with John. His nails came in contact with John’s neck, leaving behind two, wide scratches, and two thinner ones. Before the baptist even realized what was happening, Leslie was out the door, his boots hammering the hardwood floor in a frantic rhythm.

He flew the stairs down, his hand gliding against the railing, hoping that he wouldn’t trip on his own feet. He knew that whatever Jacob would do to him for disobeying and hurting John fucking Seed, would be a lot more merciful than whatever twisted shit the youngest Seed had been planning.

“Get the fuck back here!” John’s voice hurled down the stairs.

 _No, no, no, fuck!_ Leslie screamed inside his head. Where? His eyes darted back and forth as he hopped over the last three steps, the sound of his harsh landing a clear indicator of his location. The truck. No — the fucking keys were in the front pocket of his jacket. Footsteps in the hallway above, descending the stairs. Front doors. He had to run. The only option he really had. He pounced forward, burst through the doors and _thump._ He slammed into something and he flew backward, struggling to get back on his feet, his nails scraping the floor as he pushed himself upright.

“Leslie?” It was Jacob. Without thinking, he ducked behind his Herald and grabbed him by his winter coat, shaking violently as he pathetically cowered behind him. “What the—” Jacob didn’t have time to finish his sentence, when John nearly ran into him. He froze as he saw his older brother, the scratches on his neck trickling blood, which soaked into his cornflower blue shirt. Jacob reached his hand behind his back, fumbling for Leslie, and pulled him into view, his eyes darting between his brother and his Chosen.

“That bitch attacked me,” John jumped to say, his eyes blazing with anger. But he was wary of his brother, as he knew just how easily he could be angered.

“What? Why?” Jacob asked, eyeing John’s neck with a slight frown. “It’s not that bad,” he added. It really wasn’t — it was just a few scratches.

“Are you fucking defending him?”

“No. Just sayin’. What happened?”

“I dunno! Ask him,” John snapped.

“Leslie?” Again that familiar, soft tone. “Care to enlighten me?”

“You… You said you wouldn’t…” Leslie stifled a sob and shook his head, his eyes wide and his skin damp with sweat. “You promised. And now you just… Gave me to _him_ even though you pro—”

“No,” Jacob interrupted and pushed Leslie farther away from himself. There was something dangerous about his smoothly flowing movements, his narrow eyes, and his heavy breathing. He turned his attention to his little brother and said, “John, remind me of something. Are you allergic to nuts?” His tone was soft, but Leslie knew exactly how deceiving he could be, and the way he pronounced the words — that deep southern accent with rolling edges, that was so rarely heard — made his skin crawl.

“What? No. Why?”

“Good. Because I’m about to kick yours up into your throat.” John crinkled his nose and rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh when Jacob stepped closer, his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists.

“That’s crass, Jacob,” he said, disgust seeping between the words. “I didn’t think a brother of mine could be so classless and lacking taste.”

“John. It’s the last fucking time you touch my things.” Leslie recoiled and hugged himself, feeling nauseous that he was but a thing to his Herald. What the hell had he been expecting? A declaration of love, or affection? No, it was better to be one of Jacob’s playthings than under John’s mercy — at least the former one wouldn’t leave him maimed and barely alive.

“Give me a break. I know you’re uneducated, but learn to restrain yourself,” John muttered and scoffed — a show of blatant disrespect. As Jacob’s boot came into contact with his balls he let out a high-pitched howl, which sounded more like a dying rabbit than a human. Leslie couldn’t help but snicker, and he quickly covered his mouth, afraid of the possible repercussions if he'd continue laughing. John winced and dropped to his knees, his eyes watering. He gasped for breath, as Jacob folded his arms and towered over him. He clicked his tongue and said, “The last time, John. Do you understand that? I’m not sharing anything with you.”

“What the shit?” John hissed, doubled down and his nails digging into the hardwood floor. “You fucking kicked me!”

“Serves you right. Did you get the fucking message, or do I have to kick you again?”

“No. Fuck! Keep him.”

“Like I need your permission to do that,” Jacob snarled. He then turned to look at his Chosen and said, “Get in the fucking car right now, or you’ll be in a world of pain.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie said quickly and backed out of the chalet, leaving the two Seeds to glare at each other. He couldn’t stop a smile from spreading to his face, and he got a few startled looks from other guards. One of them was Jack, and even though he wanted to ask what the hell was going on, he merely tightened his grip from his rifle and stayed back. He met Leslie’s eyes and he raised a brow, like he was asking, Explain later? with that small gesture. Leslie paused and nodded, giving a curt shrug. Yes, later, he conveyed to his friend.

_You look handsome._

Leslie didn’t know how long the compliment would replay in his head, but as he jumped into his truck and slammed the door shut, all he wanted was to curl up next to his Herald and hear the words again and again. He gazed through the frosted window, waiting for Jacob to come outside, his muscles trembling. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he was panting and he was still high-strung, his senses heightened as his whole body was still ready to flight or fight. His breath evaporated quickly in the cold air, and the coldness crept under his jumper, biting at his skin. It felt like his whole body was aching for his Herald, aching for attention, aching to be touched, hurt, and used by him.

When Jacob finally did walk through the doors, Leslie’s heart skipped a beat, and there was nothing he could do about it. It made him feel extremely weird, and he had to avert his eyes to calm his fluttering heart. As Jacob hopped inside the truck, he threw a jacket onto Leslie’s lap and slammed the door shut. He leaned his head against the wheel, breathing heavily, his jaw clenched. Leslie wanted to reach his hand and touch him, but he was afraid he would just get yelled at, or worse, so he just stared, gnawing at his lip.

“You’re mine. Next time he tries something like that, rip his fucking eyes off.”

“I—”

“That’s an order.”

Leslie tensed, but somehow he mustered enough courage to lay his hand on Jacob’s thigh. He spoke softly when he said, “Thank you. It meant a lot that you—”

“It meant nothing,” Jacob snapped and straightened his back. “Give me the keys. I have to get the fuck away from here, before I go inside and rip his dick off.” His Chosen did as told and handed him the keys. Jacob took them and sighed heavily. “Fucking idiot.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“About?”

“About what happened. I just panicked, and I—”

“It’s fine. You damaged his ego more than anything else,” Jacob said sternly as he started the car. “Look… John is John. Let him be. He won’t try anything again.” He glanced at his Chosen and gave a curt smile.

~***~

“What are you doing?” Leslie asked, balling the sheets into his fists, staring at Jacob, who was in the process of unlacing his boots. He glanced upwards, and hummed, not saying a word. Leslie could only stare in disbelief, as Jacob pulled off his boots and threw them aside. It wasn’t right; his Herald on his knees in front of him, undressing him. It was wrong. But it was nothing compared to what his Herald did next; he yanked off his socks and placed a kiss on his foot, his fingers wrapped around his ankle.

It wasn't right. It was wrong on so many levels, but Leslie had no idea what he should say, or do, so he just stared in confusion, feeling awkward and unworthy of such affection. Because that's exactly what it was — affection — and he was sure of it. He was relieved when Jacob flicked his eyes to him and said, “Get on your back.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he replied softly and undid Leslie’s trousers. “Lift,” he ordered and patted his hip. Leslie obeyed and eventually lowered himself on his back, his hands still holding onto the sheets as Jacob tugged off his pants along with his boxers. As the Herald pressed a kiss on his knee, he flinched, but he was downright shaking when he felt lips against his shin, trailing downwards.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, hoping that it would distract Jacob.

“Sure. But first, put your legs on my shoulders.”

Leslie sat up, his eyes wide. “What? Why?” His cheeks were flushed; he felt ashamed every time Jacob saw him in sparse clothing, and especially when he so openly stared at his dick. There was nothing special about it, but nonetheless, Jacob was staring again. But Leslie was just glad that he wasn't degrading himself anymore, so he wasn’t going to complain.

“Just do it, then you can ask your question.”

With a groan, the Chosen obeyed. He rested the bends of his knees on Jacob’s shoulders and plopped on his back because it was easier to look at the dull, white ceiling than the hungry look his Herald had in his eyes.

“Why did you react so harshly? I mean… You kicked your brother.” The memory made Leslie smile, and he was glad that Jacob couldn’t see it.

“Because you’re mine.” And as soon as the words left Jacob, he took his Chosen’s dick into his mouth, and his hands found their way under his jumper. His skin was soft and warm, almost feverishly hot. The bedsprings moaned as Leslie’s back arched and he squirmed when he felt himself hardening. He let his body do what it wanted; redirect the blood flow towards his dick, make his hips jerk pathetically. He wasn’t hiding the whines and keens that escaped him anymore, but as Jacob pulled back and his tongue was suddenly sliding over his hole, he yelped loudly and was instantly taken aback by his voice. Pleasure knotted up his stomach and he gasped, his legs weak and trembling as Jacob’s beard roughed the insides of his thighs and his tongue pressed inside of him.

“Stop it,” he suddenly hissed, surprised by his stern tone.

“Why?” Jacob asked, his warm breath brushing against Leslie’s dick.

“It’s gross.”

“Well… It seems like you enjoy it.”

“It doesn’t matter. I—”

Jacob shushed, and Leslie had no other choice than to give in to his Herald, as his tongue pressed inside him again. Leslie was sure it wasn’t meant to feel so good, but he found himself panting and shaking. He wasn’t especially fond of having anything inside of him, but he had to admit that what Jacob was doing felt extremely good. No one had never done anything like it to him — he'd always been too repulsed by the idea — but now he wished Jacob wouldn’t stop. He tugged at the sheets, whining and gasping, as Jacob licked him, and sometimes even pressed small kisses on his thighs and his dick, before getting back to rimming him.

Driven purely by a weird instinct to hold on to something, Leslie brought his hands to his Herald’s head, threading one hand amidst his hair. But soon his other hand strayed and he wrapped his fingers around his dick. Ashamed, horny and needy, he began to jerk himself off. It disgusted him, but he just ignored it. The pleasure was building up, it pulsated within his stomach, flowing along his legs. It was like liquid fire, scorching his skin and his insides. His mind was blank, and the only thing he could concentrate on was the demanding tongue pleasuring him, occasionally straying to slide over his balls, before returning back inside. He was desperate for a release, and he had an inkling that he would need permission for it.

“Jacob,” he panted. “Can I come? Please?”

“Yes,” the Herald replied. “Let me see it, though,” he continued and instead of his tongue, he dipped his index finger inside his mouth, covering it with thick saliva, and finally slipped it inside his Chosen. Leslie keened and snarled, “Fuck!” as Jacob flexed his finger. His hand began to desperately move along his dick, and he knew how pathetic he must have seemed.

“You’re such a good boy, Leslie,” Jacob muttered, and carefully added another finger. He was pleased to notice there wasn’t any resistance, and he was even more so, when Leslie suddenly whined, “There”, his hand going up and down in uneven movements, his hips jerking and his chest heaving. Jacob grinned and began to move his fingers back and forth, making sure he hit that sweet spot. He pressed them deep, as he felt his Chosen tightening. When he bucked his hips harshly upwards, Jacob slowly pulled his fingers out. Leslie moaned as he came, his cum spreading all over his stomach and his jumper, his other hand tugging at Jacob’s hair painfully.

“More,” he muttered, and it took his Herald a few seconds to realize what he meant. When he did, he said, “You did good, Leslie. Such a good little soldier, aren’t ya? You’re so handsome, especially now. I’m proud of you.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Leslie whined as Jacob peppered his thighs with kisses. He brought his hands to his face, still struggling to catch his breath as the last jolts of the orgasm shot through his body. Jacob smirked and leaned over him to lap the cum from his stomach. He pressed kisses against the soft flesh, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into it, before he carefully lowered Leslie’s legs to hang over the edge of the bed, his rough hands brushing against his damp thighs. He got to his feet, wincing at the pain throbbing in his knees. He most definitely wasn’t twenty anymore, and unfortunately, his body knew it.

“It felt nice, didn’t it?” he asked, rubbing his right knee, which was especially sore.

Leslie replied with a soft moan and a curt nod.

“Good,” Jacob said, staring at his Chosen openly; the white skin on his stomach, his flagging erection, his wet inner thighs, the soft, light-brown hairs around his dick. Jacob liked the fact that he was soft, and not as ripped as some of the Chosen were. Leslie wasn’t vain, even though he was a good-looking man. Well, more cute than handsome, but still.

“Can you take more?” Jacob wasn’t sure why he asked, but he wanted to avoid the stomach-twisting guilt that would most likely come if he’d force Leslie again. The whole incident with John had made him anxious, and he hated it. He hated seeing his little brother act so coldly, especially since he still saw him as the little kid he’d been when they’d been separated. No matter how many years were put between that moment and the present, John would always be his baby brother.

“Yes,” Leslie whispered and moved his hands so he could meet Jacob’s eyes. He hesitated for a moment, before he whispered, “Take me.” To give everything to a single name — Seed — felt liberating. He’d already given his soul and his life to Joseph, why not give his body and heart to Jacob? By doing just that, there would be nothing left for John. He was already taken, every last bit of him already reserved for someone else.

“Don’t have to ask twice,” the Herald said and quickly pulled off his shirt. He threw it on the floor, and in a matter of seconds, it was accompanied by his boots, trousers and boxers. Leslie shuffled upwards, so his feet wouldn’t touch the cold floor. He pulled off his jumper and threw it aside, before lying on his back again. His eyes were half-shut when he spread his legs, a silent invitation which hung heavy in the air. He was getting hard again, and Jacob bit back a moan as he saw it.

“I want you to cum inside me,” Leslie whined, bucking his hips. “Please.” It was the first time he really wanted anyone to fuck him — and he wasn’t sure if it had something to do with what had happened earlier during the day. Or if it was just him giving up. Fighting would never help, resisting would make it all so much more difficult and painful. Whatever would happen, Leslie knew he wasn’t weak — he’d survived the trials, he’d dragged himself through them, beaten, exhausted and bloody, and he’d dropped to his knees in front of his Herald, teeth bared, eyes glassy. Like everyone else, he’d shown his loyalty by pulling that trigger and sending that bullet through a loved one. No hesitance. No regret. No remorse. That had been the first time Jacob had said the two words he always longed to hear, “Good job”.

Not trusting his voice, Jacob merely nodded, and he settled between his Chosen’s legs and propped himself up with his arms. Leslie whimpered when his Herald kissed him, and he opened his mouth to welcome that same tongue that had made him crazy just moments before. He didn’t care where it had been — he’d already forgotten about his initial reluctance — and he nearly knocked Jacob over as he wrapped his legs around him, pulling him closer. He was desperate to press every inch of his pathetic figure against his Herald’s.

“You’re mine,” Jacob muttered into Leslie’s mouth, and he jerked his hips, so his dick rubbed against his Chosen’s. He wanted to say that he was proud, but something stopped him. He truly was proud, even though he wasn’t sure if it had been courage, or stupidity which had driven Leslie. In the end, it didn’t even matter — he had stood up to John, and it was all that held any significance in Jacob’s eyes.

Jacob was surprised that he was able to keep his balance, as he reached a hand between Leslie’s legs, and fumbled about, before pressing a finger inside of him. Lube. Of-fucking-course. He swallowed his annoyance, and said, “You need to let go, we need—”

“Lube,” Leslie finished his sentence and pulled out a full bottle from under his pillow, driving his heels into Jacob’s thighs. “I know.”

Jacob smirked, clearly pleased. “Good boy. You still need to let go for a moment. I don’t have enough room.”

The Chosen let out an exasperated sigh, and let his legs fall against the mattress. He kept staring at Jacob, his gaze drilling into him, like he was constantly on the verge of saying something, but never found the courage.

“You came back for me,” he eventually said quietly, his voice full of gratitude. He smiled and breathed out, like he’d been holding back those words for a long time.

Jacob didn’t reply immediately; he slathered his fingers with lube, thinking that the skin on Leslie’s stomach was looking awfully plain. Then he said, “Yes. Because no one touches my things.” He was going to mark the Chosen, yes, because the tattoo on his chest — sloth — was John’s mark. And the bite mark on his neck would fade at some point, dissipate into two pale crescent moons, and no one would know whose mark it was. It definitely wasn’t the first time Jacob was thinking about marking someone, but it was the first time he seriously considered it. He had a feeling that he’d keep that particular Chosen around for a long while — he had been everything he’d wanted, and more.

“You weren’t… jealous?” There was a teasing edge to Leslie’s voice.

Jacob chuckled, his eyes glued to his Chosen’s dick resting against his stomach, as he slipped a finger inside him. He added a second one, noticing how easy it was, and how effortlessly he was able to move his fingers back and forth. Leslie began to pant again, his eyes fell half-shut, and he whimpered as Jacob flexed his fingers, his hips making those small, adorable jerks again.

“Jealous?” Third finger.

“Yes. Were you?” He could barely get the words out, as he was gasping for breath, confused as to why it felt so fucking good. Had Jacob finally managed to break him in? He had never enjoyed having anything inside of him that much, and the wide grin that spread to his Herald’s face revealed that he knew it too.

“No. Jealousy would mean that I have feelings for you,” he explained, his fingers drawing out keens from his Chosen. “Which I don’t. You’re a tool, don’t you forget that. You have your purpose — to serve me. Pleasing John…” Fourth finger. “Isn’t a part of your purpose. He just wants you, because you’re mine. I’ve seen it happen before. He’s a prissy little princess, who thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants.”

Jacob pulled his fingers out and threw the lube aside, leaning over his Chosen and aligning himself so he could easily press inside. He paused, as his eyes locked with Leslie’s. His eyes were damp, and the soft skin around them was reddish, like he was about to cry. But that fragile expression he had was quickly knocked aside by pleasure, as Jacob began to push inside, his teeth gnashed together. He had to remind himself that he was rewarding Leslie — so hurting him wasn’t going to serve any purpose. A low growl escaped him as he slipped inside easily.

“But it _is_ jealousy,” Leslie said between his gasps as he wrapped his legs around his Herald and interlocked his fingers behind his neck. “Because you got pissed when someone else touched me.”

“Of course,” Jacob said. A dumbfounded expression spread to Leslie’s face, making him chuckle. “What? You thought I was gonna just pass you around like a fucking trophy?” He rolled his hips slowly, enjoying the trembling legs wrapped around him. “No, no, no. I would never do that. You are _mine_ and there’s fuck all you can do about it.”

“Who said…” Leslie began. He moaned as Jacob rutted deep, the rhythm of his hips broken down into jagged bucks, as he struggled to keep himself from losing control. “that I wanna do something about it?” he continued, gasping for breath. “Because I don’t.”

“Good boy,” Jacob murmured into his ear, his nails digging into the sheets. Keeping up the relatively slow rhythm was proving to be a lot harder than he’d imagined. So when Leslie suddenly whispered, “Harder”, he didn’t hesitate. He began to thrust his hips as fast as he could, nearly losing his mind over the small keens that Leslie was making.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he whined. “I want you to cum inside me.”

A small part of Jacob wanted to ask what the hell had changed his mind, but he opted to keep his mouth shut. Seeing Leslie so eager, and needy was arousing. It was also easier, and at that moment he wasn’t even ready to fight to get laid. Leslie was beginning to tighten around Jacob’s dick, and he was whining like a fucking dog.

Then a pathetically soft groan escaped Jacob, and static filled his head as he came without warning, his teeth suddenly sinking into Leslie’s shoulder, his hips twitching as he pushed inside to the hilt, anchored in place by his Chosen’s legs around him. That’s when his body went limp, and Leslie merely whined as he was squeezed against the mattress by Jacob’s weight. His ribs ached, but he didn’t care.

“Fuck!” Jacob snarled as Leslie squirmed under him, his tightness and heat amplifying the orgasm. Something hot spread between them, and it took him a few seconds to realize that Leslie came, and finally his legs fell, and his arms fell, and he was limp, eyes closed and lips parted in a quiet whimper. Jacob pushed himself upright, his softening dick still inside his Chosen. He slowly pulled out, watching as the eggshell white cum flowed onto the sheets, soaking into the soft fabric. What a fucking mess.

With a heavy sigh, he plopped right beside Leslie, draping an arm over his chest, who seemed to be completely unbothered by the mess as he just rolled to his side and shuffled closer. Like always, Leslie pressed his forehead against Jacob’s chest and inhaled deeply. His lungs were filled with the scent of wet earth, blood, and sweat, and it made his head spin. His hand brushed mindlessly against Jacob’s arm, finding the shrapnel pieces still trapped under his skin. Without thinking, he pressed a single, sloppy kiss against his Herald’s chest, rubbing his nose against the rough hairs now damp with sweat.

Leslie realized he must have dozed off when he was startled by the loud howling of the veteran’s center’s alarm. When he was trying to make sense of the situation, Jacob was already on his feet, pulling clothes on. The room was filled with a red light, and Leslie cringed when the familiar song began to play. It didn't affect him, but it still made his skin crawl, as he’d seen how it affected people that had gone through Jacob’s conditioning.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking around like the answer was somehow hidden in the long shadows. It was dark, and Leslie had no idea how long it had been since they had returned from the ranch.

“I dunno,” Jacob replied as he grabbed his radio. He brought it to his mouth, and said, “What the fuck is happening?”

 _“A Whitetail, sir. Found him trying to break some of the prisoners free. He’s with me now.”_ It was Jack’s voice, and Leslie breathed out in relief — Jack would know how to handle even the most difficult situations.

The Herald sighed and snapped, “Turn that goddamn alarm off.”

_“Already on it, sir!”_

It took a few minutes, but when the alarm finally stopped, Leslie rubbed his eyes and winced. His head was hurting, and he was cold, his skin sticky and gross. He needed a shower, but he knew his duties would come first.

“I’ll come down there,” Jacob informed as he turned to look at his Chosen.

 _“Of course, sir,”_ Jack replied.

“Shall I come with?” Leslie asked and got off the bed. He reached for his clothes, as his Herald answered with a sharp, “Yes”. Leslie nodded and got dressed quickly, trying hard not to think about what had happened just hours before. But of course, his mind reminded him of how good it had felt, even though the situation wasn’t appropriate at all.

It took him less than two minutes to get fully dressed and ready — courtesy of Jacob’s training. His men were supposed to be quick and efficient in everything they did, no matter the circumstances.

“Eli’s getting bold,” Jacob muttered as he pushed open the bedroom door and started to make his way downstairs, Leslie in tow.

“It seems like it,” his Chosen replied. He knew about the friendly relationship Jacob and Eli had once had. They’d been good friends, but then one day, Eli had decided that Joseph, along with his brothers and adopted sister, were crazy. It had happened before Leslie joined, so he had never met Eli personally, but he’d heard the rumors. And he’d seen the rage in Jacob’s eyes whenever someone brought up Eli, or his followers.

“That fucking idiot. He knows what’s gonna happen to everyone he sends here.”

“Yeah.”

Jack was waiting for them in the lobby, standing in front of the doors, holding his rifle tightly. He glanced at Leslie, but didn’t do anything else to acknowledge him, instead he flicked his eyes to Jacob and said, “The Whitetail’s just outside, sir.” His thick Scottish accent had dulled down during the three years he’d spent in Montana, but not enough for it to completely disappear.

Jacob unsheathed his hunting knife and walked outside, shoving Jack aside. Leslie frowned and followed his Herald. Two of his men were holding a young Whitetail by his arms, and he was on his knees in the snow, head hanging and his hair soaked in blood.

“I have a message to Eli,” Jacob started and chucked his knife in the air. He grabbed it and continued, “But, unfortunately, you’re not gonna be able to deliver it.” He turned to look at his Chosen. “Leslie.”

“Yes?” he asked, stepping closer.

“You do it.”

“Yes, sir,” Leslie replied. No hesitance. He took Jacob’s knife and circled the Whitetail. “Let go,” he ordered, knowing very well that he had the authority to order the two men holding the fucker around. They weren’t Chosen, they were just pawns. As they obeyed and let the Whitetail go, Leslie grabbed him by his cold, wet hair and twisted his head back to reveal his neck.

“Good,” Jacob said softly as he folded his arms, standing still, his eyes fixed on his Chosen. There wasn’t a shred of the shy, reserved man left — Leslie was in work mode, and it was fucking beautiful. Jacob couldn’t hold back a grin, no matter how unhinged it seemed. But he was proud. So fucking proud of Leslie — he was certain, his movements were sure and he had a wild light in his eyes. He wasn’t a tool — he was a weapon.

“Fucking crazy piece of shit!” the Whitetail screamed, trying to struggle free. Leslie bared his teeth and tightened his grip, bringing the knife against the man’s throat. “You’ll burn in hell, the lot of you!”

“Eli will be joining you soon enough,” Leslie said quietly, teasing the soft skin with the knife, enough to draw a small amount of blood. Then he raised his voice and continued, “If there’s any more of you left, we have a message to Eli and the rest of you cowardly motherfuckers!” His voice echoed in the premises, making the hairs on Jacob’s neck stand up. “We will kill every last one of you, because this is the will of the Father! You will be killed, if you are deemed unworthy, or you get the chair.” Leslie locked eyes with his Herald, as he dragged the knife against the Whitetail’s throat, cutting as deep as he could. The man began to scream, but his voice was quickly blocked by the blade splitting his trachea and esophagus, tearing the vessels open easily.

The blood soaked into the snow, making it look almost pitch black in the dim light, and when Leslie was done, he let go of the man’s hair and kicked him in the back, sending him flying face-first into the icy ground. He wiped the knife against his trousers, and it didn’t slip by him unnoticed, that Jacob was hard — the imprint of his dick was clearly visible. The air felt like it was full of electricity, as he walked up to his Herald and handed him the knife. It took him all of his self-control not to pounce him right then and there.

No regret. No remorse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! i still love leslie in his work-mode. he's quite something, ain't he?


	5. I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a predator, Leslie. But… Even some predators are to be eaten and consumed. You can be both, you know. I’m surprised you didn’t know. After all, you’ve been through hell and you’re still alive. If that’s not a testament of your strength, then I don’t know what is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more left after this one.
> 
> song rec: Ich Will by Rammstein

Sometimes Leslie saw dreams about his trials, and occasionally those dreams morphed into nightmares which made him scream and fight against an invisible enemy. Most of the time he was screaming for his father in Serbian, but the rest of the time his sentences became unintelligible — even for the rare few members of Joseph’s flock who understood Serbian. Jacob most definitely didn’t, and he was scared half to death when he was jolted awake by his Chosen flailing and screaming next to him. He sat up, glancing around in a state of mild panic.

“Tata! Gde si, tata!” Leslie wailed, his eyes wide open. He was staring into nothingness, his trembling fingers making odd motions like he was about to clench his hands into fists but didn’t quite get there. He was drenched in sweat and his voice had a panicked edge to it. “Žao mi je! Tako mi je žao!” he continued as Jacob grabbed him by his arms, which was a bit challenging since he was flailing and struggling so much.

“Leslie!”

“Žao mi je!” Leslie repeated and started to fight back. He was surprisingly strong, so Jacob decided it was best to try to restrain him somehow. He wrapped his arms around Leslie — only to realize that it was more of a tight hug than restraining. Well, as long as it would work. “Žao mi je… Žao mi je, tata…” Leslie muttered against his chest, his whole body rigid. He began to sob, and his tears soaked into Jacob’s shirt. All the tension left his body with one, shuddering breath. He was limp and heavy, half sprawled on top of his Herald, his muscles twitching.

“Leslie, it’s alright. You’re alright,” Jacob said, pushing himself up with one arm, dragging Leslie with him. He crossed his legs, his free arm wrapped awkwardly around his Chosen. With a sigh Jacob cradled him again, listening to his shuddering breathing and his whimpers. Nightmare or a flashback, it didn’t matter — the goal was to keep him from hurting himself.

Seconds turned into minutes and Jacob lost count of how much time had passed. His legs were numb and he was tired, but a part of him wanted to see things through, so he didn’t let go. Tendrils of worry swirled in his stomach and a part of him felt guilty — had he caused the nightmare?

When Leslie stuttered something incomprehensible, Jacob glanced downward and asked, “You okay?” Leslie nodded. “Was it a nightmare?” He nodded again. Jacob loosened his embrace and breathed out in relief. He rolled his shoulders carefully and stretched his neck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jacob didn’t feel like it was needed to mention that he knew all about distressing nightmares and that he wasn’t pissed or frustrated. It wasn’t like Leslie could decide when he was haunted by nightmares or memories. He rubbed his hand against his Chosen’s back, hoping it would calm him. “What was it about?”

“My dad,” Leslie replied. Before Jacob could say anything, he started to mutter something frantically, repeating certain words and sentences again and again. It went on for a while, until his quiet, almost hushed voice trailed off. He was out of breath, a dead weight on his Herald’s lap.

“What was that language?” Jacob asked. He wanted to know _what_ he’d been saying but he felt that he was in no position to pry.

“Serbian. It’s the first language I learned,” Leslie said quietly. He sounded hoarse. “I’m sorry that I woke you up.”

“It’s fine. Don’t have to be sorry,” Jacob sighed, a bit annoyed — there wasn’t anything to be sorry for. He laid on his back, pulling Leslie with him. He moved his hand to his nape to rub small circles against his wet skin. “I’ve had my share of nightmares,” he added and turned his head to look at his Chosen. Leslie didn’t reply. He just shivered, his hand shaking against his Herald’s chest. His eyes were open, but vacant, like his mind was already somewhere far away.

As Jacob stared at the ceiling, he wondered if Leslie’s thoughts were with his father, or even farther away — in the streets of Bosnia and Herzegovina, where his father’s side of the family was from. Or maybe he wasn’t thinking about anything. It was impossible to say. Although Leslie was an easy read, sometimes there was no telling what was going on in his head.

Finally, Jacob broke the silence, hoping that Leslie wasn’t already asleep. “You should try to sleep, alright? I know I have to. I have a long day ahead,” he said softly as he closed his eyes, threading his hand amidst Leslie’s hair. He was still shivering, and he was still sweaty, but Jacob didn’t give a shit. He just pulled him even closer, inhaling the salty, yet sweet smell of his hair, dragging his hand through the wet strands. He repeated the motion until Leslie’s breathing grew deeper and slower, and then he moved on to petting his head, his thumb rubbing his forehead in half-assed circles. Jacob knew that being close to someone helped with the aftermath. Not only it was comforting, but it also rooted one to reality.

Leslie clung onto his Herald’s shirt as if he were drowning, his fingers wrapped tightly around the fabric. The darkness and the steadily beating heart under his hand were oddly calming, and he began to drift back into sleep, all the while Jacob was petting him, and that gesture was somehow sending small jolts of electricity along his spine.

~***~

Leslie stepped into the balcony, the memory of his nightmare still lingering as if the images were burned into his retinas, and not even a long, hot shower hadn’t helped. He ran his fingers through his wet hair, flicking drops of water all over. As he lit up a cigarette, he could hear Jacob’s heavy footsteps behind him. He hadn’t seen his Herald since the weirdly lazy morning they’d shared, and he was still confused as to why Jacob had ditched his duties to spend time with him. He wasn’t going to question it though, knowing very well that he wouldn’t get an explanation, no matter how much he’d ask about it. Leslie was just happy he had been able to just snuggle under the covers, with his Herald’s heavy, yet comforting arm draped over him.

“I loved my father very much,” Leslie started suddenly, holding a cigarette between his fingers. He leaned against the balcony railing and stared into the distance, gnawing his cuticles. “He was… a bit aloof,” he muttered against his hand. Then he dropped it. “Always just a step too far for me to reach him. He was disconnected from everyone, you could say. I guess I understand why. He didn’t come back whole from the war. Did I ever tell you about that? That he was a soldier in the Bosnian War?”

“No,” Jacob replied and took the cigarette from his Chosen. He didn’t feel like telling that he already knew about it. He understood that talking was a way to pull the nightmare apart, to diminish it into something trivial, to lessen its weight.

“He was part of the Bosnian Serb Army. He rarely talked about it. But I caught up pretty early that he was damaged goods in my mother’s eyes. He was amazing, though. He was kind to me. Well, sometimes he was violent and unpredictable.” He laughed dryly. “PTSD is a bitch. When I was twelve my mother left him for another man and… Everything went to shit. Didn’t see him in a long time. He never wanted me to become a soldier. But here I am, following orders and doing everything in my power to…” His voice trailed off as he straightened his arm, flexing his fingers, just because he could — the splint was finally off. “To keep you content,” he added, disgusted by his own words.

“That’s one of the reasons why I chose you,” Jacob muttered and reached his hand to lay it on his Chosen’s arm, rubbing his thumb against his cold skin. It was kind of attractive how he always rolled up his sleeves, no matter how cold it was. “You’re a good soldier.” _And you’re tougher than you think,_ Jacob thought. A smile tugged at his lips.

“I’m everything my father never wanted in a son. I’m soft, and… and…” He swallowed. “Not that it matters anymore.”

“And what?”

“Nothing,” Leslie huffed, setting his hand over his Herald’s. For some reason, he needed to be close to him. He wished for the moment to never end because everything in it was perfect; the silence, the gloomy, low hanging sun, the slow snowfall. And because it would be easier that way. But alas, life is never easy, and the clocks keep ticking no matter what, and this Leslie knew. He groaned and said, “My dad… He wanted me to be normal. Because it would be easier if I’d been…” He struggled.

“Straight?”

“Yeah.”

Jacob hummed as he pulled his hand away and said, “You were thrown into conversion therapy.” Not a question. Just a statement. He took a long drag from the cigarette, watching as a Judge emerged from the tree line, just outside the gates, a Chosen in tow. They walked along the road, and the Chosen waved to someone in the yard.

“Yeah. When I was thirteen,” Leslie said. He was surprised that Jacob knew, but then again he seemed to know everything about everyone, so there was no reason to be surprised. “What about it?”

The Herald winced. “It’s fucked up. And it never works. It’s what made you this nervous, anxious mess that you are. You’re constantly guilty, no matter what, or who, you do. And that guilt… Well, it’s eating you. It makes some people stronger and resilient. Some it makes weak and soft. When people are repeatedly being told how wrong and full of sin they are, it changes them. Fundamentally. To put it simply, others, like John, are predators. They consume everything. And some are prey, to be consumed. It’s all about the balance of nature, after all. Everyone has their purpose and their place in the food chain.”

“Which one am I?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Well,” Jacob started and grinned. “You’re a predator, Leslie. But… Even some predators are to be eaten and consumed. You can be both, you know. I’m surprised you didn’t know. After all, you’ve been through hell and you’re still alive. If that’s not a testament of your strength, then I don’t know what is.”

Leslie blinked rapidly, puzzled by his Herald’s kind words. “I… How do you see me then?” he asked.

Jacob frowned. “What?”

“I see you as my Herald. What am I to you?”

“Depends. Now you’re just Leslie.”

Leslie sighed, gnawing at his lip. He then asked, “Did you know that it’s not even my name?”

“What d’ya mean?” Jacob asked and flicked ash over the railing. He watched as the wind snatched it away and turned to look at his Chosen again.

“My mom changed my name when I was three, or four. Leslie isn’t my real name. Well, I mean… It is, officially. But I was born Ljubomir. I was named after my father.” Leslie hung his head and groaned. “I don’t feel real. I feel like I’m a fraud.” For all his life someone had been trying to change him one way or another; his parents, his so-called therapists, every Orthodox priest he was forced to meet, and it was still eating at him. He’d been torn apart again and again by people thinking they knew better than him, stripped to the bone until there was nothing to hide. John’s work had been neatly laid out for him when Leslie had joined the Project. To John’s dismay, it had been easy to pull out his sins and his deepest, darkest secrets.

“No, you’re quite real,” Jacob assured. He knew that there was something Leslie was desperately looking for but there was no way of telling what it was. It was as if he was stumbling in the dark, fumbling for a flashlight that just wasn’t there.

“Shit,” the Chosen muttered. His voice was weak. “I loved him so much. He just wanted me to be happy. I fucked that up too.”

“If you loved him so much, then why’d you kill him? Why didn’t you spare him?”

Leslie pushed himself upright and stared at his Herald, his brow furrowed as if he didn’t understand the question. His fingers were wrapped around the railing so tightly that his knuckles were sheet white. “Because you told me to. He was my sacrifice.”

“You never hesitated.” It was almost a question, but the inflection didn’t quite rise enough.

“No,” Leslie replied nonetheless.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Are you being honest?” Jacob asked and dropped the cigarette on the floor before crushing it with the heel of his boot. “Most people hesitate. Hesitance is fine to a certain degree.” He shot a scrutinizing stare at his Chosen, resisting the urge to pull him closer. To a hug, or a kiss. All he knew was, that he wanted to touch him, and it was a weird feeling, wanting to be close to someone. Wanting to hug someone. To touch someone without any ulterior motives.

Leslie shrugged his shoulders and said, “No. I didn’t hesitate.” He wanted to explain himself, but he didn’t know how to do it. So he just asked, “When are you leaving?”

Jacob sighed. “Now. I have to pick up Joseph. To be honest I still don’t understand why he wants me to go with him to Missoula.” He scoffed and continued, “But who am I to argue with the Father?” His tone was venomous. “So, John is in charge when we’re gone. But he doesn’t have permission to set a foot in here.” _So you’re safe,_ he wanted to add but opted to stay silent. There was no point in getting attached; Leslie was a tool. A weapon. Nothing more. And he most certainly wasn’t attached. Or so he told himself.

“Okay,” his Chosen replied, his gray eyes half-lidded. He hung his head again.

Yes, someone could’ve seen. But Jacob knew his men weren’t brave, or stupid, enough to say anything, so he grabbed Leslie by his jumper and pulled him closer. For a moment, Jacob hesitated, but eventually slid his hands along Leslie’s jawline, his thumbs brushing against his cheeks. The gesture was met with a confused, wide-eyed stare. Leslie’s breathing hitched when Jacob hummed and leaned his forehead against his, their noses just a breath’s width away.

As Leslie opened his mouth to say something, Jacob kissed him, making him instantly forget what he was going to say. He slipped his tongue between Leslie’s lips and into his wet, eager mouth, and he wanted to laugh when the Chosen began to paw at his chest and small whines escaped his throat. It was pathetic and adorable. Not to mention arousing. Leslie was still clumsy as if he didn’t quite know what to do with his tongue or his hands. As Jacob pulled back, his eyes were shut and he was panting, his fingers clutching his jacket and that delicious red tint was once again adorning his cheeks.

“Tomorrow then,” the Herald said. And then he was gone, the echo of his footsteps fading away. Leslie opened his eyes, and for a moment he just stood still, staring at the worn wall of the balcony, his heart thudding in his chest and blood gushing in his ears. A sliver of disgust twisted his insides because he’d enjoyed that kiss far more than he had wanted to.

Despite the cold, he stayed in the balcony and watched as Jacob eventually crossed the yard and hopped into a truck. He kept watching until he couldn’t see the car anymore. That’s when he stepped inside the office, stomping his feet to get rid of the snow, and shut the balcony doors. It was the first time in over a month that he was going to spend a night alone. It was weird, but also a possibility to unwind. There wasn’t a lot of daylight left, so there was no point in going outside. Hiking alone in the dark didn’t seem like a smart option, not with Whitetails sneaking about. He thought about the situation for a while, until he got an idea.

As he unclipped his radio from his belt, he began to smile. “Jack?” he called out, pacing around the office. “You there?”

A sharp, _“What?”_ and then a groan. _“I was sleeping, lad.”_ Jack’s voice was thick and he sounded like he was still a bit out of it.

“Wanna get a drink?” Leslie asked, knowing very well that his friend had the night off.

 _“You at Jacob’s quarters?”_ He sounded a bit more awake.

“Where else?”

 _“I’ll be there in ten,”_ the Scot said quickly.

Leslie knew Jacob wouldn’t probably approve of him drinking, but then again, the punishment couldn’t be that bad, so he was willing to take the risk. His mind strayed to the night he and Jack had hooked up. It had been the result of a night of heavy drinking, and a very small part of Leslie wanted the past to repeat itself. It made him nervous and confused. He was Jacob’s, so why was he thinking of sleeping with someone else? It made no sense to him. On top of it all, Jack was his friend. It would be a stupid decision to sleep with him again, wouldn’t it? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to, or if it was just his loneliness playing tricks on him.

Less than ten minutes later Jack burst through the office door with a smirk on his face and a bottle on his hand, wearing civilian clothes and his black hair a mess, like it almost always was. Judging by his stubble, he’d been in a hurry. Leslie raised a brow as he hadn’t seen his friend so unkempt and in plain clothing in a long time. He’d almost forgotten how handsome Jack was, and the realization made his heart clench.

“Leslie, my lad, you’re getting drunk tonight.”

“It seems so. It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Four months if my calculations are correct.”

“I don’t count days or months anymore.”

“Yeah, you’ve always been like that, haven’t ya? Don’t give a shit about time. Bet you’re counting hours right now, though.”

“What does that mean?” Leslie snapped. He looked pissed.

“It was a joke. Chill,” Jack replied with a grin. He’d seen the way Leslie looked at Jacob, but he wasn’t going to address it when they were both still quite sober. Most likely he would never say anything about it. “Kitchen?”

“Yeah,” Leslie replied. “How’s work?” he asked as he passed his friend and exited into the hallway.

“John is pissed, so he’s making us work ourselves to death.” Jack noticed the guilt on his friend’s face, so he added, “It’s not you, Les. There’s some friction between him and Joseph, that’s all. I mean… I heard that they fought. About Jacob.”

“Are you trying to ask if I know something about it?” Leslie asked and pushed the kitchen door open. “Because I know nothing about any fights.”

“You don’t?”

“No, Jack. I sleep with him. That’s all. We don’t talk about his relationship with his brothers. The only time it kinda came up was when John… Well, you know.”

“Maybe you _should_ talk,” the Scot suggested as he laid the bottle on the kitchen isle. He dug his pockets and threw a pack of cigarettes next to it. “And you’re not sleeping with him. He’s using you.” Leslie gave him a weird look and then he smiled, abashed and his cheeks red. “Wait. What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing special.”

“Les.” It sounded like he was berating his friend.

“What?” Leslie asked as he pulled up a chair and sat. He cringed. “I’ll explain later if I can. It’s complicated.”

“Everything is complicated with you,” Jack sighed and shook his head. He sounded annoyed when he continued, “He’s just using you, you do know that, right?” He sat opposite his friend, his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Leslie replied evasively and nabbed the bottle. “Take glasses for us, would you?”

Jack groaned as he stood. He dug through the cabinets until he found two whiskey glasses. He raised a brow as he scanned the contains of the cabinet. “Why does Jacob have wine glasses and whiskey glasses and God knows what glasses?”

“Cos he drinks.”

“He does?”

“Why is it surprising?”

“I just…” Jack started as he sat. He thought for a moment. Then he snorted and added, “I just kinda assumed he would follow Joseph’s rules. Well, others than the obvious. I know that John does.”

“He does?”

“Most of the time yeah, to a tee. If he doesn’t, he gets snappy. I think he feels guilty when he breaks them.”

“I know that _you_ don’t feel guilty,” Leslie teased as he poured whiskey for the both of them. He took the other glass and paused. “I mean… You don’t, do you?”

“Nope. Not in the slightest. I do so much for the Project that feeling guilt about unwinding and relaxing makes zero sense. And if I’m being honest, I think that Joseph shouldn’t control our lives so much. But I’m not gonna tell it to his face. Or to his Heralds.”

Leslie opened his mouth but then closed it. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say that he didn’t disagree, or know what he thought. Honestly, he agreed. Deep down he did feel a bit guilty for breaking the rules so blatantly, but he knew that Jacob wasn’t as strict as Joseph was. And seeing his Herald enjoying a glass of whiskey, or wine, made Leslie feel a lot better about drinking. Even though his main focus was on getting as drunk as possible before he’d pass out — not enjoying the taste or the slight buzz. For him, it was more about forgetting than relaxing.

“Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever see dreams about the trials?” Leslie asked and emptied his glass. He winced and coughed.

“I’ve seen a few. But that was a long while ago. Why’d you ask?”

“Because I do. Sometimes. Rarely nightmares. But when I do they’re bad.” Leslie rubbed his fingers mindlessly against the gnarly scar on his arm, not even realizing he was doing it. His fingers hiked upward, drawing circles against the small, round scars on his arm.

“I guess that’s normal,” Jack said as he poured the next glass for the both of them. He glanced at his friend, or more precisely, his scars. “I mean… The trials were grueling.” He laid down the bottle and sighed. “Look, if you’re having nightmares or something… I can help. Just say the word.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Are you okay?”

Leslie smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, of course. Just tired.” There was no point in lying, but then again he wasn’t ready to talk about his nightmares. He then took his glass and stared out the window behind Jack, but he wasn’t looking at anything, merely just letting his eyes rest and his mind wander. He emptied the glass, holding his breath. He never liked whiskey, but it was free, so he wasn’t going to complain.

After the third glass Leslie suddenly blurted out, “I begged him to fuck me.”

Jack froze and let out a sound as if he’d been kicked. He stared at his friend, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. He was holding his glass halfway in the air, and he wasn’t sure if he should empty it, or lay it down and ask what the fuck. Seconds passed in awkward silence. He then decided to do both, in that order.

“What the fuck, Les?” he snapped and slammed the empty glass against the kitchen isle. “Why?”

“I dunno. I wanted it. I had never wanted to have sex with anyone before, and—” Leslie gasped audibly and slapped a hand over his mouth. _Shit,_ he thought. He squeezed his eyes shut. _You fucking idiot._

“What do you mean by that?” Jack’s voice was ice-cold. “Leslie. Please tell me you didn’t mean that. I didn’t… I didn’t force you, did I? I… What the fuck?” He felt nauseous even saying it out loud, and he refused to take the thought any further. Guilt burned his throat and he swallowed forcefully.

Leslie opened his eyes and dropped his hand. He sighed and said, “No. You didn’t force me.”

“What the hell does that mean then? What do you mean you didn’t want it?”

“I was drunk. I can’t explain it. You did nothing wrong, I—”

“You’re a fucking asshole, did you know that?” The Scot jumped up, his hands balled into fists. He paled and shook his head. “Are you that fucked in the head that you think you can’t say no?”

“No. It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it?”

“I… It’s stupid.”

“For fuck’s sake, lad. Just tell me.”

“I didn’t want you to dislike me. I just wanted you to be my friend.”

“I _am_ your friend you daft fuck. And I _was_ your friend back then. I was drunk and I was horny and you just happened to be there! I _asked_ Les. I _asked_ if you wanted to. I asked several times cos I know about your past. You said _yes_ you fucking idiot. What the hell? Who the fuck does something like that? Wait… We had sex twice! Did you say yes both times just for the sake of it?”

Leslie cringed. “Like I don’t know what I said. I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember what I thought. Please, don’t go. I don’t wanna be alone.” He flicked his eyes to his friend. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I… didn’t like it. It’s so difficult to explain.”

“Does it have something to do with…” Jack’s voice trailed off and he sat back down. “With your stepdad?”

“Yes. I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It slipped.”

“It’s fine,” Jack muttered and poured another glass. It wasn’t fine. But what the hell was he going to say? That he was pissed, which he was, or that he was disappointed, which he was also? Or that he felt sick? Or that he wanted to slap the living hell out of Leslie? No, he’d rather be quiet and pretend he was fine with everything. It was difficult enough for him to just keep his mouth shut and watch as Jacob tore pieces off his friend. He was sure that eventually there would be nothing left of him, that Jacob would devour him like he’d done so many times before to others. The thought chilled him to the bone, and as he watched the sullen expression on Leslie’s face and his trembling hands, he wondered if his role in the world was to fall victim to predators of different kinds. Or maybe his whole life was just a chain-reaction to being treated like shit.

Jack groaned. He was furious and he wanted to scold the fuck out of his friend. But when Leslie reached his hand across the table to lay it on his, he suddenly realized he wasn’t pissed at him. He was pissed at everyone and everything else. To hide his frustration of not being able to do anything to help, he forced a saccharine smile.

“So… Are you alright, though? Are _we_ alright?”

“Yeah,” Leslie replied as he nodded. “We’re alright.” He didn’t seem to be alright, quite the opposite; he seemed distraught and tense. There was something up with him, and Jack knew it. He wanted to pry. He really did. But he just didn’t have the guts to do it, as he was too afraid he’d manage to tear open old, already scarred wounds. He stared at the small, round scars dotting his friend’s arms, and the sight made him sick to his stomach. He wasn’t used to feeling powerless, and seeing the damage done to Leslie made him fill up to the brim with a thirst for blood.

The rest of the evening they just chatted this and that, avoiding talking about their Heralds, keeping the tone light and distant. When the bottle was polished off, Jack got up, his limbs heavy and his head buzzing loudly. He glanced at his friend sprawled on top of the kitchen isle, and although his eyes were half-lidded, he was completely awake. Jack knew that he was missing Jacob, and it annoyed him.

“I’m gonna let you get some sleep now,” he said and patted Leslie’s back. “Consider running away before it’s too late,” he added. He was about to continue nagging at him when a distant ringing made Leslie jump up. His eyes darted back and forth before finally latching onto Jack.

“It’s… late,” he said, unsure of what time it was, leaning against the kitchen isle. “Who the hell is calling at this hour?”

“It could be work, so you better answer.”

Leslie didn’t stop and argue; he darted out of the kitchen, tearing his hand through his damp, tangled hair and hurried to the office. He picked up the receiver and said as clearly as he could, “Veteran’s center, Leslie Winters speaking.” He was polite down to the core, even when he was drunk and tired. It was the prominent Canadian-side of him that prevented him from being rude.

The caller laughed. It was Jacob. _“You sound so formal. It’s cute. Were you sleeping?”_

“No, I was awake.”

_“Having fun are we?”_

Leslie frowned and sat atop the desk. “I… It’s okay,” he eventually said. He was sure there was something off with Jacob; he sounded weird. Not once had he heard his Herald utter the word cute, so it was slightly alarming.

_“Are you alone?”_

“Yeah, I’m alone,” the Chosen answered and turned to look at the doorway. Jack was leaning against the doorframe, shaking his head. He pushed himself off of it and waved, before disappearing into the hallway. He knew perfectly well there was no point in eavesdropping. “Well, I am now.”

_“You had company then?”_

“Mmh. Jack was here.” Jacob didn’t reply. It was quiet for a while, until Leslie said, “Is everything alright at your end?”

 _“Yeah,”_ his Herald sighed. _“It’s just boring. We’re buying some property in Hope County and the owners live here and well… I don’t know. I have no idea why John isn’t here. I understand nothing about all that legal crap. It seems like Joseph wanted me to scare them into selling. Which I did.”_ He laughed dryly.

“Are you drunk?” Leslie blurted. He’d heard the slurring in Jacob’s voice.

_“Yeah. You?”_

“Yeah.”

Jacob chuckled. _“I kinda guessed you’d drink.”_ He sighed. _“Did you fuck him?”_

Leslie squeezed the receiver tightly and shook his head. He then realized Jacob couldn’t see him, so he said, “Of course not.”

_“Did you think about it?”_

“I… Why are you asking that?”

 _“Because I know that you had sex with him.”_ It was a statement, not an accusation. But Leslie still felt his cheeks burning upon hearing the words. _“I figured it out a week ago. You wanna know how?”_

“Yes.”

 _“The way he looks at you. He looks at you like he’s seen you naked. John may be the one who pulls sins and confessions out of people. But…”_ He paused to clatter with something. _“I can see things like that. It’s fine though. What happened in the past, belongs in the past. So… Would you do it again? Did you think about it?”_

“I did,” Leslie said quietly, ashamed. “I guess I kinda wanted it to happen again. But… I don’t want it. Not really. It was just a passing thought.” It was easier to speak his mind when he didn’t see Jacob. And yes, being drunk made it easier too.

 _“Aww, you know just the right thing to say.”_ The venom seeped through, and Jacob groaned. _“I want the truth. Not you lying to please me.”_

“It is the truth,” the Chosen snapped, swinging his legs. “Are you jealous perhaps?”

_“No.”_

“Mmh.”

It was quiet for a while and Leslie just listened to the silence, gazing at the scenery behind the balcony door. It was dark and it had stopped snowing. He hadn’t realized it before, even though he’d been staring out of the kitchen window most of the evening.

_“Leslie?”_

“Yeah?”

_“What are you wearing?”_

“I… Well, clothes. Is there a reason you’re asking?” Leslie frowned and stared at the wall plastered with maps. He got up and went to take a closer look. There was a blue circle about fifteen clicks north from the veteran’s center. It was the cabin Jacob had been talking about. Leslie slid his finger against the smooth surface of the map and smiled. He was still scared to leave to a remote location with Jacob, but a part of him was happy about it — getting away for a moment might do him some good. Might do them both some good.

_“Ever heard of phone sex, dumbass?”_

Leslie froze, his finger pressed against the map, just over the veteran’s center. “Yes. Why?” He let his arm flop down.

_“Let me ask again. What are you wearing?”_

“Jeans. And a t-shirt.” He glanced downwards. “That’s it.”

_“I can work with that. You remember when I gave you a choice? You opted out of putting on a little show for me.”_

Leslie closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. He hoped his Herald wouldn’t hear the fear in his voice when he replied with a curt, “I do.”

 _“I’ve been thinking about it. No, more like fantasizing about it.”_ His voice was husky and quiet. _“That’s what I’m expecting from you at some point. I’ll give you time to think about it, though. But for now… I need you to do something.”_ He laughed softly. _“I wanna hear what you want me to do to you. And I wanna hear you cum. I know you’re not the quiet type. And I really am bored.”_

“What I want?” Leslie asked, confused. He went back to the desk and plopped down on the chair. Was there no pay-per-view porn at the motel Jacob was staying with his brother? And where the hell was Joseph?

 _“Yes. I wanna hear where you want my fingers and my tongue. Because let’s face it…”_ He snorted. _“I already know where you want my dick.”_

“I… Uh, the day we came back from the ranch, you… Did that thing,” Leslie started, his cheeks red. His free hand was resting on his thigh, his fingers twitching.

Jacob laughed. _“What thing?”_ he asked teasingly, even though he had a good guess.

“You praised me. I want… you to do that again.”

_“Does it turn you on?”_

“Yes,” Leslie admitted. Even the thought of getting praised made his heart pick up the pace. He rubbed his thighs together as he began to grow hard and dug his nails into his thigh. He knew it was pathetic, but at that moment he didn’t give a fuck.

_“What else?”_

“I want you to lick me again.”

_“Mm, I recall that you loved that. So, you want my tongue inside you again?”_

Leslie’s breathing hitched. “Yes,” he whispered. “And I want you to jerk me off again. Like you did that same morning. You said I was handsome. It… it was nice.” He sighed and admitted, “I want you to fuck me.” His voice faltered because of the vulgarity of his confession, but it was fine. There was no reason to hide anything — he was sure that Jacob could smell his desperation from miles away.

 _“Fuck,”_ Jacob hissed. _“Didn’t expect you to come clean so easily. I’ll have to reward you again, it seems like.”_ He sounded out of breath. Leslie’s eyes widened and he swallowed as he realized what was most likely going on.

“Are you—”

 _“Jerking off? Yeah. That’s the whole point of phone sex.”_ He laughed.

Leslie drew a shuddering breath as he undid his jeans with one hand, his chest heaving. It felt as if his body was aching for his Herald again and he knew his hand was a poor replacement — but there wasn’t any other option. Jacob was all the way in Missoula and there was no point in driving up there since he was coming home the next day. He felt weird for even considering it. Did he really want Jacob that much? The realization that yes, indeed he did, made him feel detached from reality.

 _“Oh, the things I’m gonna do to you,”_ Jacob said and hummed.

Leslie blushed and stood up for a moment so he could hike his jeans down, pinning the receiver between his head and his shoulder. He sat back down, ashamed of how needy he was. He knew he’d feel disgusting after he was done, but at that moment he really didn’t care, so he laid his hand against his half-erect dick and bit back a moan. He had no fucking idea what to say.

_“So, Leslie.”_

“Yes?”

_“Do you know what I love the most about you?”_

Leslie froze. Did he hear correctly? He wasn’t sure, so he just asked, “What’s that?”

 _“That you’re an open book. Mmh, I like the way your pupils dilate quickly. It’s like they blow up when you look at me. Do you know why that happens? It’s because you’re aroused. You also get all flustered. It’s beautiful.”_ Jacob paused. Then he moaned. _“Fuck. You’re so good to me, you do know that?”_ Leslie whined as a response, again rendered speechless. He craved to hear more, but there wasn’t a bone bold enough in his body to blatantly ask for more. _“Such a good boy. You’re not just pretty, you know that? You’re also smart. I like that.”_

“Smart?” He sounded so pathetic and he didn’t give two shits about it. It was his way of luring more praise out of his Herald. He let a whine escape him when he wrapped his fingers around his dick. One quick motion was all it took for his dick was slick with precum. On a whim, he dipped his fingers into his mouth. It tasted bitter, but it wasn’t half bad. He brought his hand back to his dick, just as Jacob started to talk again.

_“Yeah. You’re smart alright. There’s a reason why I promoted you. You’re efficient, talented and you have your way with people.”_

Leslie wanted to ask how much had Jacob been drinking, but he decided that it wasn’t a smart thing to do. If his Herald was drunk, so what? So was he. Probably more than Jacob was — he’d always had a poor tolerance for alcohol. He got drunk easily and he passed out easily. Embarrassing, yes, but also cost-effective in Leslie’s opinion. There was a constant, low buzzing noise inside his head, and his eyelids felt heavy. But he was extremely horny like he always was when he was drunk. Hence the going with the flow -thing he had going on. He shoved the familiar self-hatred aside, not wanting to focus on it too much because it would only dampen the mood and make him anxious. More so than he already was.

“Jacob?” Leslie asked as he began to move his hand slowly along his dick. His eyes were fixed on his Herald’s fatigues hanging from the coat rack next to the door. He was an utter moron, and he knew it.

_“Mmh?”_

“I want you to wear your fatigues when you’re… doing me.” Leslie couldn’t bring himself to be crass about it again, although he enjoyed hearing his Herald using that kind of language.

_“Really? Have a thing for soldiers, do ya?”_

“No.” It was a lie. “Yes,” he corrected. Jacob whined, encouraging him to add, “You could wear it and…” He hesitated again.

 _“Yes? Tell me.”_ It sounded more like begging, rather than an order, but Leslie didn’t say it out loud. But he did make a mental note of it — why, he couldn’t say.

“Do me at the barracks. Or at Elk Jaw Lodge.” The thought alone made Leslie nervous and it felt like his blood was fizzing in his veins as he began to move his hand faster. “Somewhere more… public.”

 _“Oh?”_ Jacob burst into peals of laughter. _“Leslie Winters, I’ll be damned.”_ Suddenly the southern accent crept into his voice, which was usually flatter. Leslie didn’t know if it was because of the years he’d spent away from Georgia, or just a façade. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter, because hearing that accent turned him on. _“Didn’t think you’d be into that. Wanna get caught, do ya?”_

“Not necessarily,” the Chosen said, panting heavily.

 _“Necessarily?”_ Jacob laughed again. _“Mm. I can arrange that. You sound like you’re jerking off. Are you?”_

“Yes.”

_“Fuck. Good. Now tell me… What are you thinking?”_

“You.”

_“Is that so?”_

Leslie winced. “Well, yeah.”

 _“I’m thinking about you too.”_ He chuckled. _“I was so bored earlier that I started thinking about you and… Well, let’s just say that hiding a boner was a lot easier than I remembered. Ah, fuck. You wanna hear what I’d do to you if I were there?”_

“Yes,” Leslie whispered, trailing his nails along his dick, much like Jacob had done a while back. He pressed his nails against the soft skin and keened. Pathetic.

 _“I’d get on my knees.”_ Jacob’s breathing grew strained as if he was having difficulties controlling himself. _“I’d suck you off. If I just close my eyes… I can picture you all flushed and eager. I can almost taste you on my tongue.”_ He hissed. _“Took you a while to get used to it, but now…”_ He laughed. _“You like it. I don’t give a shit if you still feel iffy about cum, which I don’t understand… But when you’d finish, I wouldn’t swallow, oh no, no, no. I would spit every last drop into your mouth.”_ Leslie whimpered. _“What? Ah… You’d like that. Is that so? I’d make you swallow it. I would love to fuck your mouth right now. I’d teach you a few tricks.”_

“What tricks?” Leslie asked, his voice breathy. He was happy that no one could see how desperately his hips jerked and how tight his grip was — so tight that it hurt. But for some reason, he liked the pain at that moment.

 _“Just… tricks. Certain things that will—”_ He moaned. _“make me lose my mind.”_

“I wish you were here,” the Chosen confessed. His hand sure was a poor substitute. “I want you to teach me.”

 _“Mmh, and I will. I’ll be there tomorrow. Now, come for me, would ya? I wanna hear it. No, scratch that. I_ need _to hear it. And we’re out of time.”_

Leslie picked up the pace, gasping for breath. He struggled to keep quiet, but then he realized that it was the opposite of what his Herald wanted, so he let out a loud keen. He was alone, after all. It was embarrassing and slightly pathetic. But lust took over him, and he thought that John had been wrong about his sin. It wasn’t sloth. It was lust. Pure and simple. It had been hidden in plain sight, just underneath his ribs. But now it was rapidly uncoiling at the pit of his stomach and sending near-painful ripples of pleasure all over his body, aided by his drunken state.

 _“Yes, just like that,”_ Jacob said softly, almost purring when Leslie moaned. _“Fuck. You make me hard. Such a good boy.”_

“Yes,” Leslie whined and the pleasure mixed with shame, creating a tingling cocktail that made his head spin. He wasn’t sure if the feeling was created partially by the whiskey he’d consumed, or if the situation was just that arousing, but he didn’t care anymore. Suddenly he noticed that he was going to come when the pleasure came as hot spikes, piercing through his body, and making his vision blurry. It was impossible to focus on anything, and he simply gasped, “I’m gonna…” before he whined and his hips bucked against his hand. “Fuck!” he hissed and dug his nails into the receiver as he pressed against the backrest. His whole body went numb as he came, a certain emptiness resonating inside his chest.

 _“Good boy,”_ the Herald murmured. _“I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

“I miss you,” Leslie panted, dragging his fingers through the warm cum on his shirt, his whole body limp and tired.

_“I know.”_

A soft click, and Leslie was alone again. He stared at the ceiling and didn’t care as the receiver slipped from his hand and clattered on the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, ashamed of the mess he’d made, but also glad that there was no one to see it.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, forcing himself to get up. He wanted to throw up, and he managed to convince himself that it was because of alcohol, not because his mind decided to spring some nasty, buried memories on him. He pressed a hand against his stomach, clutching his shirt as his insides knotted up. “Shit,” he hissed, pinching his brow with his free hand. He was filled with a burning hatred towards his stepfather and it made him shake.

He dragged himself to the bathroom and collapsed on the floor, his eyes prickling.

“I want you to come back,” he said quietly. “I want… you.”

He laughed dryly.

“I’m an idiot. Such a fucking idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty for reading, folks!!


	6. In, Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because I’m his Herald it’s different. I’m supposed to be a role model. And I can’t be one if I’m interested in men. Sometimes he doesn’t see the problem in his logic. Like his flock would suddenly stop respecting me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last one yay. i'll go back to working on the next chapter!  
> song rec: Rein Raus by Rammstein

Down to his very core, Leslie was a very needy man, but he was way too polite to ever demand, or even ask for anything. He just went with the flow, hoping that someone, sometime, would ask what he wanted. It had felt unbelievable when Jacob had done just that a few days prior. Granted, they both had been drunk and it had been during a phone conversation, but despite all that, it had made Leslie happy. He ignored the anxiety and the panic attack he’d had afterward, when he’d drenched himself with ice-cold water, his arms wrapped around his legs as he’d sobbed and sobbed, curled up in the tub.

_Do you know what I love the most about you?_

Love was a huge word, but Leslie knew that people threw it around mindlessly. It meant nothing. It was just a figure of speech, right? Yes, it had to be, Leslie had concluded. It didn’t mean he could just stop thinking about it — and no, he wasn’t brave enough to address it. That single question had made his sleep disjointed and restless, filling every waking moment with uncertainty. So when he woke up, feeling more dead than alive, he rolled to his side, confused as to where he was, his thoughts sticky as if covered in tar. With a groan he sat up, scanning his surroundings. It was an old log cabin, and basically, it was just one, large room with a kitchen nook and a fireplace, a small alcove for the bed and that was it. It was sparsely furnished, with a small dining table and a couch.

Then he remembered the long, exhausting hike and he remembered glancing at the interior of the cabin before crawling into bed and falling asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. The bleak morning light was pouring in from the dusty windows, and the narrow bed was cold and empty. On top of it all, Jacob’s clothes and his gun were gone, leaving Leslie extremely annoyed. He had no idea where his Herald was, or why he’d left him alone. To get rid of the coldness creeping under his clothes, he hopped off the bed and went to light the fireplace. He managed without much of a struggle, even though the firewood was a little damp. Then he ran outside to turn on the generator in the small, ramshackle shed, so he could get some well-deserved morning coffee. He was cursing loudly when he returned inside, rubbing his arms and stomping his feet to shed the coldness from his muscles.

Had it been summer, he would’ve gone outside to lie in the sun, but because it was winter, he settled with lying on the couch as the generator purred loudly and the coffee maker burbled in the small kitchen nook. It didn’t take much for the cabin to fill with the strong, bitter smell of coffee. Leslie draped an arm over his eyes, breathing in deep, trying to prepare for getting his ass off the couch. His whole body felt like it was made of lead when he sat up slowly. Even his bones seemed to ache, and his joints felt like they were full of sand. He dragged his feet as he went to the kitchen, tearing his hand through his tangled hair.

That’s when he saw the small note laying on top of the stove.

_Gone hunting. See you later._

Later? What the fuck did it mean? Leslie groaned loudly and pinched his brow. He was frustrated, but because there was nothing, or no one, to unravel on, he shoved his feelings aside to be addressed at an undetermined time. Which meant probably never.

He filled his mug with pitch-black coffee and wondered how long he would have to be alone. The uncertainty made him anxious and he hated it. He sighed as he leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the fireplace and listening to the crackling and popping of the firewood. It was still cold, and to warm up quickly, Leslie dragged himself in front of the fireplace and sat as close as possible, his fingers wrapped around the warm mug.

~***~

Jacob had strapped the four rabbits he’d managed to catch to his belt, and he waded through the thick snow, questioning his actions and feelings. In fact, he was questioning his whole existence. He was a soldier. A Herald. Not someone who ditched his duties to keep his Chosen from getting anxious, and not someone to, well, hurt someone like he’d done to Leslie. At least he hadn’t been. He had made a fuckton of mistakes in a short time, and it made him feel stupid and immature. He felt as if he was turning into those people he always hated as a teenager, those people who had harmed him and taken his innocence by force. Was he any better? He wanted to think that he was.

It was senseless to have Leslie around nearly constantly, as it only complicated things. But for some fucking reason, he was unable to let go. Unable to sleep alone anymore. There was comfort in having someone near, hearing someone else’s breathing whenever he woke up because of his nightmares, or when he just couldn’t sleep. It eased the uncertainty residing inside of him, the tendrils of panic still wrapped around his gut, the pressure of his duties. He was happy to follow Joseph, happy to be at his beck and call, but waiting for the world to end was difficult.

Before juvie, before the war and the destruction of his psyche, before Eden’s Gate, when he’d been just Jacob Seed, a young boy with his whole life ahead of him, he’d been the kind of person to fall in love quickly and unequivocally. He’d loved everyone and everything — not their father, fuck no, but everyone else — with a burning passion. Even in juvie, he used to get attached to people easily, at least to those who were patient and kind to him. Around that time he began to grow wary of other people — especially adults, purely due to the lack of trustworthy ones in his life. He’d hardened himself, built up walls with steel and concrete so no one could hurt him ever again.

During his life, he’d had a few flings here and there, but mostly just fuckbuddies or one night stands. And as the nights in Iraq were sometimes long and dull, having someone to ease the boredom with had been nice. The first time he’d fallen madly in love had been in his early twenties, just before he was deployed again, but nothing came of that relationship; it was too dangerous. He was living in Kentucky back then, and Kentucky in the mid-to-late-90s was no San Francisco. Not even realizing he did it, Jacob dragged his fingers against the scars on his face, as he thought of his past lovers and flings, his mind looping back to Leslie quicker than he wanted to.

He had to admit, that although he wasn’t in love with Leslie, not by a long shot, he was attached, and he couldn’t say which one was worse. Either way, Joseph would lose his shit if he’d find out. He’d been pissed enough as it was when Jacob had asked for time off. For himself and Leslie. There was only one reason he’d mentioned Leslie; just to fuck with his brother. It had felt good, but mostly just juvenile and idiotic, when Joseph had agreed, muttering bitter words between his teeth, eyeing his big brother askance.

Jacob paused. He groaned and rolled his eyes, thoroughly annoyed at himself for everything, and at the same time for nothing in particular. He started towards the cabin again, guided by his own, internal compass, but also the thin column of smoke rising skyward. As soon as Jacob saw it, his heart made a sudden jump, as if it was missing a beat, and his skin tingled with anticipation. He shrugged it off as him being just fatigued from the hike and the hunting trip, and he just adjusted his rifle hanging from his shoulder.

As he pushed the door open, a smile began to tug at his lips. Leslie was lying in front of the fireplace, on top of a deer hide, his eyelids fluttering. He paused to take in the sight, fixating on the slightly trembling fingers wrapped around the thick fur. After thinking about it for a few seconds, Jacob slammed the door shut in an attempt to wake him up. He grinned when it worked; Leslie yelped and sat up abruptly, muttering something incoherent. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Rabbits,” he said as he glanced at his Herald.

“Yeah,” Jacob replied and walked to the kitchen nook. He unhooked the already gutted rabbits from his belt and threw them in the sink, before turning to look at Leslie again. He wiped his hands to his trousers, noticing that he had bloodstains on them.

“I couldn’t sleep at night,” the Chosen said as he got to his feet. He rubbed the small of his back and winced. “Want me to make some coffee?”

“No, not necessary,” Jacob said, digging through his pockets, with a frown on his face. Leslie watched as he froze momentarily, the frown deepening before he started to frantically pat himself down as if he’d lost something. He then strode into the small bathroom, where he clattered, cursed loudly, and then moments later, stomped out of. He groaned and started to pace around the cabin, looking distressed and paranoid, his eyes slightly widened.

“Is… everything alright?” Leslie asked carefully. Jacob hissed and stopped near the front door. He dug through his pockets again. “Did you lose something? Can I help?”

“Mind your own fucking business.”

“I… I can help. What did you lose?”

“Nothing.”

“Well… What are you doing then?”

“How is it any of your business?” Jacob snarled. He pinched his brow and sighed.

“Sorry. If you’re… Um, looking for your,” Leslie paused. “Pills,” he then said, his voice faltering. “I put them in the kitchen. Next to the coffee maker.” He blushed. “You dropped them. I guess. I found them on the floor. It’s… Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, but… I noticed the label and… Sorry.” He was stumbling over his words, so he decided it was best just to shut up. At least momentarily.

The look on Jacob’s face was a mix of horror, shame, and wrath. He opened his mouth. Then closed it. With a groan, he shucked off his jacket as he walked to the door. He didn’t even look at Leslie, he just placed his jacket to hang from the coat rack, his cheeks flushed and his brow furrowed deep.

“Do you,” he began, trying to change the subject. He cringed at how his voice wavered. “Want to take care of cooking today?”

“Sure, yeah,” Leslie said meekly. He wanted to say something comforting. But all he could think of was, “It’s fine. You know. I mean… I… I didn’t know you…” He cleared his throat. “Needed _help_ with… Things. But it’s normal. I don’t…” _Fuck this is awkward._ “I don’t think any less of you. Naturally, I won’t… Um, tell anyone.” _Why am I still talking?_ He circled the couch and, although he was scared half to death, walked to his Herald. He latched onto his scarred hand with both of his, rubbing his wrist with his thumb.

“What are you doing?” Jacob asked, his voice monotone. He was staring at the front door like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Leslie brought his hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles one by one. “If there’s anything I can do, just say,” he said, trying to sound comforting. Jacob turned to look at him, instead of the door. His stare was deadpan, but his cheeks were red — he was obviously trying to hide his emotions, but couldn’t quite manage to do it. Leslie kissed his knuckles again, trailing his lips against his fingers, and placing kisses on his fingertips.

“Yeah,” Jacob eventually sighed, staring at his Chosen. He took a deep breath, and all the tension seemed to leave his body at that moment. But he recoiled when Leslie suddenly took his index finger between his lips and slid it into his mouth.

“Why,” Jacob paused. “are you doing that?” he continued, his voice hoarse. Leslie slipped his finger out of his mouth — which had tasted like salt and blood — and smiled, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

“I… I was thinking we could go to bed,” he said. The implication was there and he hoped that Jacob wouldn’t make him say out loud what he wanted. Yes, he wanted to sleep with him again. It had felt good before, a bit uncomfortable, yes, but good.

“Sure,” Jacob replied after a minute of total silence. He followed when Leslie led him to the alcove, the melting snow from his boots leaving small puddles behind him. He was disappointed when Leslie let go of his hand, but that disappointment was quickly wiped away when he began to undress. His cheeks were flushed when he was done and he stood still, his shoulders tense, his back slightly curled. The lost, confused look on his face made Jacob chuckle, and he threw a glance at the direction of the kitchen. He was anxious, of course, he was, but a part of him assured it was fine. He didn’t need any help. Right?

Leslie climbed into bed, keeping his eyes on his hands when Jacob undressed, noting that he had a small nick on his thumb from where he’d dug out a splinter hours before. He was still ashamed, but he was determined to not let it get in the way. Slowly he turned his head and stared at his Herald, his eyes wide. His breathing hitched. He’d merely caught a glimpse of his dick, and he was already embarrassed and nervous. Not to mention turned on. He pinched his brow, annoyed at how easy he seemed to be, and when he dropped his hand, he continued staring.

“What?” Jacob asked, noticing the weird look Leslie was giving him.

“I… I haven’t looked at you before,” he replied.

“I know.”

“I think,” Leslie paused. “You’re handsome.” Something flashed in Jacob’s eyes, but he didn’t reply. His eyes narrowed the slightest bit as a smile tugged at his lips.

“Make room.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Leslie muttered and pressed against the wall. It was cold, and rough, as it was made from timber, but somehow it felt good against his flushed skin. Jacob stared at him and it was as if he’d gotten an idea because suddenly he smirked. He plopped onto his back and said, “You can be on top this time.”

Leslie nodded, abashed by Jacob’s brazenness, and when he tried to straddle him, he shook his head and said, amused, “No, between my legs. I want you to fuck me.”

Leslie froze. His heart thudded in his ears as he tried to understand what the hell was happening. Was Jacob serious? He couldn’t be, right? Or could he? It made no sense that his Herald would like a demeaning act like that. Seconds passed and Leslie grew more anxious, unsure of what he was supposed to do or say.

“It’s… it’s demeaning. You shouldn’t… I… You’re my Herald, I…”

Jacob laughed. “It’s not demeaning. It’s just sex. I like it.” He wrapped his fingers around Leslie’s wrist. “What? Haven’t you ever fucked anyone before?” The terrified look on his Chosen’s face was an answer enough. “Oh, well. First time for everything.” He paused, guilt burning his throat. “If you want to, that is.”

“I… Yeah,” Leslie muttered. He threw his leg over Jacob’s, careful not to knee him and settled between his thighs, his forehead lined with worry. Leslie liked foreplay. No, he _loved_ it. But Jacob was more get-to-the-point-already -type, and it scared him shitless.

Leslie propped himself up with his arms and leaned closer to kiss Jacob — which was a bit difficult since he was almost a foot shorter than he was. He had to crawl upward so he could reach his Herald’s lips and he rested his whole weight on him, annoyed at their height difference. Jacob chuckled, as Leslie cupped his face, brushing the part of his cheeks where the skin grew into beard, and kissed him. It was embarrassing how he flinched when Jacob grabbed his ass, his fingers pressing against his skin; not harshly, but almost gently. It felt actually kind of nice, and it confused Leslie.

He moved his hand and threaded it amidst his Herald’s beard, then he moved it to his head, his fingers rubbing circles against the shaved side. His hips jerked a few times when he began to harden — he did try to stop those small movements, but he was unable to. He closed his eyes as if he could somehow ignore what was going to happen next — but ignoring it was impossible since he could feel Jacob’s growing erection against himself, and it was distracting. A weird hiss escaped him when Jacob moved his hand to his neck, his palm resting against the old bite mark, his thumb rubbing against his throat. He didn’t apply any pressure, just rubbed small circles as gently as he could.

Suddenly Leslie broke the kiss and opened his eyes, one hand threaded amidst Jacob’s hair. He smiled nervously and said, “How… how do you wanna do this?”

“You’ve never fucked anyone?”

“No. And I have to confess something… I hadn’t kissed anyone before you… Kissed me.”

Jacob’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Really?”

“Yeah. It was a good first kiss, though.”

Jacob hummed, a skeptical frown on his face.

“They fought,” Leslie said as he returned to his place between Jacob’s legs. He ran his hand against the line of rough hairs crossing his stomach. He glanced at Jacob’s dick resting on it, and he nearly whined out loud when he saw the beads of precum on his skin. “Your brothers. That’s why Joseph took you with him to Missoula.” He slid his index finger against Jacob’s dick, making him squirm.

“I know.”

“What was it about?” Leslie asked, not wanting to pry, but he was a bit worried. He’d never actually properly looked at another man’s dick, and it was exciting and weird, and he had a weird tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach when he brushed his hand against the smooth, soft skin in Jacob’s inner thigh.

“I’ll tell you later,” the Herald said and forced a saccharine smile — he really didn’t wish to talk about it. “Are you nervous?”

“A bit,” Leslie replied. “But I… I wanna do it. So…” He turned to look at the bottle of lube atop the nightstand. He took it and stared at the label; it was waterbased. He flipped the lid open and tried to peel off the label, knowing very well that he was dawdling. The lube was cold as he slathered his fingers with it, rubbing his fingertips together. “Can I just… You know.”

“Yeah. I think I’m more used to having things inside me than you are.”

Leslie nodded, his jaw clenched. Jealousy flared up inside of him and he had to fight to shove it aside. He flinched when Jacob corrected his position and bent his knees to give him more room. Leslie focused on the thick scar tissue on his shoulder and on his chest before he let his eyes wander. He noticed that Jacob had small scabs on his left arm, close to the crook of his elbow. They hadn’t been there before, that Leslie was sure of.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just nervous,” Leslie sighed. He then took a deep breath and brought his hand between his Herald’s legs. The first thought that popped into his head was, that Jacob was warm. It wasn’t like he’d never fingered himself, so there was nothing new about it, and he was glad that he wasn’t fumbling about like some idiot.

“You’re a good boy, Leslie,” Jacob murmured. “Look at me.” Leslie obeyed and breathed out forcefully, his hands shaking. “You’ll like it. I promise you that. I…” His voice trailed off as Leslie suddenly began to push a finger inside of him. “Ah, fuck!” He balled the sheets into his hands, his hips jerking.

“Does it hurt?”

“I’ll say if it does,” Jacob muttered between his teeth. _Just fucking get on with it,_ he thought, gasping for breath. Yes, it was a bit awkward that it felt like his whole body was a live wire when someone fingered him, but then again, Leslie was the only one seeing it. He moaned and pressed against his finger as if it would somehow convey that he wanted him to hurry. The muscles on his legs trembled as the familiar, burning anticipation began to fill his stomach.

Leslie watched as his Herald’s eyes fell shut when he began to move his finger back and forth. He quickly added a second one, biting his lip when Jacob whined and his back arched. To his relief, his uncertainty and nervousness were beginning to melt away. He had to admit that every bit of the situation was extremely arousing; Jacob’s labored breathing and the way his back arched ever so slightly when he jerked his hips, and most importantly the fact that _he_ made it happen.

Leslie cringed when he noticed that he was averting his eyes again, so he chucked the lube on the floor and placed his free hand on Jacob’s hip. He slid it downwards as he moved his fingers back and forth, finally reaching Jacob’s knee. There was a scar on the side of it, and he rubbed it with his fingertips.

“When you’re ready,” Jacob suddenly said. He opened his eyes. Leslie stared at him, noticing for the first time how blown out his pupils were — arousal. Of course, he _knew_ that Jacob was aroused — he was hard after all — but seeing it in his eyes was a different thing. It was a whole new level of intimacy for Leslie.

“You like this?” Saying ‘like’ was a massive understatement, but Leslie didn’t know it. He kept moving his fingers slowly, occasionally bending them to draw out a small whimper from his Herald.

“I do, yeah,” he replied, his words almost drowned out by his panting.

Leslie pulled his fingers out and shuffled closer. “It won’t hurt? You use more time with me. I think.” He laid his hand against Jacob’s thigh, and the other he wrapped around his dick. As he spread the lube along the length, he whined and bit his lip.

“Yeah, cos you’re inexperienced. Besides, people are different,” Jacob muttered as he shuffled a bit closer to his Chosen. _And it’s not like you’re insanely hung,_ he added in his head and gritted his teeth together so he wouldn’t grin.

“Okay,” Leslie said, his brow furrowed.

If he was being honest, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that nervous. His stomach felt like it was full of molten lava, and although he was hard from just fingering Jacob, he was afraid that he wouldn’t enjoy it. He aligned himself and held his breath again. A moan tore through his lungs as he began to press inside and his eyes widened. He froze, not even halfway inside, every muscle in his body rigid. The feeling was ineffably amazing — the heat, the tightness, and the subtle movement of the muscles wrapped around his dick. There was a persistent ringing in his ears and every sound was muffled. Including Jacob’s voice when he asked, “You alright?”, while he bent his knees a bit more and spread his legs to accommodate Leslie’s body.

Leslie nodded and forced himself to relax a bit. He propped himself up with his arms and leaned his head against his Herald’s chest. As he began to roll his hips so slowly it was bordering on torture, he dug his nails into the sheets and cried out. The feverish heat was driving him crazy and he understood why people liked it. He had to stop again, just to breathe and gather his composure.

Jacob placed one hand on Leslie’s nape and the other one on his back. It had been a while since the last time someone had fucked him, and what he really wanted was for someone to fuck his brains out, but he knew there was no point in pushing Leslie. Then his mind strayed to the fact that he was supposed to be anxious about having sex. It took all his willpower to push the anxiety aside and focus on the pleasure. _I should’ve taken the fucking pills,_ he thought, but he shrugged it off. What did it matter if he was hard, or not? It wasn’t like he needed his dick at that moment.

“Am I good enough?” Leslie suddenly asked, panting. His neck was wet from sweat and he was shivering, the movements of his hips still slow, although now a bit more forceful. But he moved his hips just a bit, an inch forward and inch backward, if even that, and it was just teasing his Herald.

“Yes, don’t worry,” Jacob replied. He dragged his hand through Leslie’s hair and left it on his shoulder. “You’re doing good. Keep going.” A very small part of Jacob was ashamed of the sounds he was making, but as he knew there was no point in being ashamed, he didn’t suppress them. After all, he had no reason to; it wasn’t like anyone else could hear him. But back in Iraq, there hadn’t been any other option than hiding every sound as not to get caught, so sometimes he still struggled to remember that he didn't need to hide anymore.

Leslie replied with a quiet whine and picked up the pace. It couldn’t be called fucking, more like pathetic humping, but he was growing more brazen with his movements. He paused and breathed out as he slowly bottomed out. It was clumsy and it was pathetic. But fuck if it wasn’t adorable. Jacob thought that it was downright cute when Leslie lifted his head and stared at him, his eyes wide and his lips parted as he panted like a dog, clearly overwhelmed by everything. Then he dipped his head and began to roll his hips with vigor, his teeth bared

“Fuck!” Jacob hissed when Leslie’s movements grew frantic, and he started to fuck him with jagged thrusts. It felt good. No, it felt better than good; it felt mind-blowingly amazing. Jacob’s stomach knotted up with pleasure and his body tingled all over, like electricity crackling underneath his skin. There was a certain appeal to seeing how Leslie’s self-control chipped down with every thrust. Then he stopped, his dick buried inside his Herald to the hilt, and winced. He lifted his head again.

“I can’t…” he wailed, the pleasure scorching his insides. It was so good it almost hurt. He could feel the pressure suddenly spiking, and it felt as if his whole body was about to implode. His hips twitched, sending waves of pleasure along his spine.

“Can’t what?” Jacob asked under his breath.

“I…” He pulled back and rutted back inside with enough force that it made Jacob wince. “I can’t hold on much longer.” He moaned, his whole body almost convulsing as he desperately clung to his self-control. A series of low whines escaped him when Jacob tightened around his dick as a response to his confession.

“It’s fine. Just… do what you like,” the Herald groaned and moved his hand from Leslie’s back and slipped it between their bodies. He grabbed his dick and as Leslie started to move again, he was suddenly breathless. Leslie was completely quiet, even though he was moving his hips with a frantic pace, his eyes latched onto his Herald’s. It was as if he was trying hard not to come. But it didn’t help; his eyes fell half-shut and the bucks of his hips grew uneven, well, more so than they already were. He cried out as he shot his load and pressed as deep as he could, his arms aching as his muscles tensed, his nails scraping the fabric of the sheets. Somehow he managed to keep himself from collapsing, even though he felt light-headed, but he let his head drop and rested it against Jacob’s heaving chest. He pulled a bit back, and rutted inside. He repeated the motion a few times, whimpering nearly constantly. Then he stopped, his breathing hitching with every breath. He focused his gaze to see if Jacob had come or not as he couldn’t be sure. “You didn’t…” He tried to think of a non-vulgar word. “Finish,” he eventually said, disappointed at himself.

“It’s fine,” Jacob muttered, his fingers still around his dick.

“I let you down.”

“It’s fine,” he repeated. “It was your first time.”

Leslie opened his mouth to ask if he was sure, but he decided against it. His arms began to tremble, but he didn’t move — he didn’t want to. He’d never felt connected with anyone like he did at that moment; his softening dick still inside Jacob, his own heart thudding in his ears, Jacob’s heart beating underneath his ribs, his heat, and wetness.

“Did you like it?” Jacob murmured, brushing his hand against Leslie’s side, almost like he was comforting him.

“Yes.” Slowly he lifted his head yet again and gave a curt smile. “It was… different.”

“Wanna go again?” Jacob asked and grinned. “You’re young, after all.”

“No… I… I’d rather lie down for a while.” He whined loudly as he pulled out. He straightened his back, and he was on his knees when he said, “I… Can I… I mean… later.”

“Again, but later?”

“Yeah.”

Jacob nodded.

“What about—”

“Don’t worry. I don’t have to come every time,” Jacob assured. “It’s fine.” He was telling the truth.

Leslie awkwardly climbed off his Herald and settled next to him, placing his hand against his stomach. He inched it downward, noticing how Jacob’s lips parted and he exhaled slowly. Leslie bit his tongue when his hand bumped softly against Jacob’s dick, and he dragged his hand along the length before wrapping his fingers around the girth. He rubbed his thumb against the slit, watching Jacob’s expressions closely. His eyes fell shut and his hips bucked as if he was asking for more, his hands clutching the damp sheets.

Truth be told, Leslie felt that he wasn’t good enough, but that sliver of doubt slipped out of his mind when he began to move his hand, his grip tight. He was almost ecstatic when Jacob suddenly growled a low, “Fuck”, and he came against Leslie’s palm, the weirdly intense heat flowing between his fingers.

Jacob snaked his arm under his Chosen and pulled him closer. He ignored how he wiped his stained hand against the sheets, amused by the slightly disgusted expression on his face. There was no discernible reason as to why Leslie was so iffy with cum, but he’d get over it at some point, Jacob was sure of it.

He was half-asleep when Leslie suddenly asked, “Why do you even sleep with these? I know that you even shower with them. Why?”

“My dog tags?”

“Yeah,” Leslie replied, his hand resting over the two pieces of warm metal.

“A habit I guess.” Then he hummed. “It’s also because I like to be reminded of the reason I have them.”

Leslie wanted to ask why he wanted to be reminded of the horrors of the war, but then again, he was glad that he had scars to remind him of the horrors of his own past, so maybe it was the same thing.

~***~

When Leslie woke up and fumbled for his Herald, his eyes still closed, he realized that he was alone again. He sat up, nervous and scared, but also angry. To his surprise, Jacob wasn’t outside this time; he was sitting on the couch with a book in his hands. Leslie didn’t say anything, he just watched as the light danced on his Herald’s face, his bright blue eyes gleaming behind his reading glasses as they slowly moved back and forth. It was already dark outside and he had no idea how long he’d been sleeping.

“You just gonna sit there?” Jacob suddenly asked, not even lifting his eyes from his book.

“I… I don’t know.”

“I cooked.”

Leslie winced, ashamed that he hadn’t woken up. “I’m sorry. I know should’ve done it, I—”

“Don’t worry about it. You were sleeping. You were so exhausted that I couldn’t wake you up. You slept soundly like a puppy,” Jacob said, his voice surprisingly warm, and closed the book. He turned to look at Leslie and smiled. “You alright?”

“Yeah.”

Leslie was confused. Was that warm, almost loving man Jacob Seed? Not the Herald, or the soldier, or the brother of the Father, Joseph Seed, but just… Jacob. Civvie Jacob. He frowned, not understanding the situation at all. Herald Jacob would’ve smacked him around if he’d slept and ditched his duties. Soldier Jacob would’ve yelled at him. But now he just… Smiled, and that familiar tension he usually had in his posture was gone. He looked so normal with his cargo trousers and his jumper, that Leslie had a hard time understanding that he still was a Herald, and that it was just temporary.

“Joseph… He has a problem with, well, with us,” Jacob started. His eyes narrowed. “Well, more like what you have between your legs. He dislikes… That’s no probably the right word but… Anyway, he dislikes the fact that I’m gay.”

Leslie yelped quietly and clutched the covers, dragging them against his chest. He was still naked, his clothes scattered on the floor and he felt absolutely flayed under Jacob’s eyes.

“Did that come as a surprise to you?”

“I… Kind of, yes. I mean… I’ve heard the rumors. I just thought they were wrong. Or something.”

“And me fucking you is just… What? A phase?” He sounded amused. “A convenient way to pass the time?”

“No. I really didn’t think much about it. There was no reason to.”

“Very well. John gets away with nearly everything. But as the older brother,” Jacob stood. “I’m supposed to show some respect to Joseph. To his cause. As if I’m not doing it already. As if I’m not working my ass off.” He walked to the kitchen and grabbed the pill bottle. He eyed it, his brow furrowed. “He doesn’t hate me, that I know, but…” He sighed. _But I hate myself._ “He makes me so fucking anxious sometimes. I drank in Missoula because I was done with his nagging. He wants me to be normal.” He slammed the pill bottle against the counter, and the plastic cracked. He turned to look at Leslie. “Wants John to fix me, to cleanse me. That’s what he kept telling me all the way down to Missoula and back. I nearly drove that fucking truck into the ditch.” He knew perfectly well he didn’t have any obligation to explain, but he wanted to.

Leslie dragged himself to the edge of the bed and eased his feet on the floor. His muscles were still sore and his back felt rigid. “I know how it feels.”

“I know you do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“Your brother.”

“It’s fine.” It most definitely wasn’t fine.

Leslie stared at his Herald and sighed. “I hated the way my mom reacted when I told her about… Myself. I can’t explain what it was like, being thirteen and being told day after day how wrong you are. Like, somehow, my innocent crush on a classmate was… debauched.” He drew a shuddering breath. “And when I told that… I’d been…” It was four letters. One word. How fucking difficult it was to say it out loud? “Well, that my stepfather, hmm, touched me, the priest, he… Thought that was the source of my vile thoughts. It wasn’t true. He… didn’t do anything to me before I told what I was. I guess it was an excuse to him.” He picked up his jumper from the floor and put it on. He didn’t bother looking for his cargo trousers because he had a pair of sweatpants in his backpack — a much more comfortable option. “It… So I know what it feels like. And I am sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Would he,” Leslie paused to think. “Would Joseph dislike your orientation less if you were interested in women also?”

“Most likely yes. He wants me to have a family.”

“You don’t?”

“Hell no. I like kids, but… I don’t want my own.” He wanted to say that their genes were shit anyway, so even if he wanted kids, he wouldn’t want them to be his biological ones.

“Can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“He… Joseph, he doesn’t preach anything like that. He’s very understanding. He knows that I’m…” The implication hung in the air.

“Why is it so difficult to say it out loud?”

“I don’t know. I’ve said it. Once. Wait… No, twice. But I don’t wanna think about it,” Leslie muttered and hurried to his feet. He held his hand over his stomach, his face slightly ashen. “I feel sick.”

Jacob looked suddenly worried. “Are you gonna throw up?”

“No. I just… Feel sick. Happens sometimes.” He pressed his free hand against his face, forcing the memories away.

“So, when you told your mom that you’re… I don’t even know, but whatever, someone lost their shit?” Jacob asked and rolled up the sleeves of his jumper. “That’s how you got those scars on your back?”

Leslie nodded.

“Your stepfather?”

He nodded again.

Jacob winced. He knew exactly how it felt to get beaten as a child by someone you were supposed to trust. How could he not know? His back was scarred, much like Leslie’s. The difference was, that Leslie’s memories were still raw and painful. They’d gone untreated far too long, and Jacob knew what it was like.

“Second time… You spoke with Joseph?”

“No. John. Part of my confession.”

“Ah, of course.”

Leslie shook his head and sat back down, his hand still pressed against his stomach. “Why are you different? Joseph told me it’s… fine. That he doesn’t condemn me, that God doesn’t condemn me.”

“Because I’m indulging my sin,” Jacob replied, his voice flat and his stare deadpan. Then he frowned and something bled into his voice, which made it waver. “Although I’m sure it would be a problem even if I didn’t. Because I’m his Herald it’s different. I’m supposed to be a role model. And I can’t be one if I’m interested in men. Sometimes he doesn’t see the problem in his logic. Like his flock would suddenly stop respecting me.”

“And John?”

“He always confesses. Always asks for forgiveness. And he has hope, as Joseph puts it. He’s not completely lost like I am.” Jacob shifted his weight. He didn’t know what to say anymore. He forced a saccharine smile and said, “Enough about that. Are you hungry?”

“I don’t wish to be a burden.”

Jacob chuckled. “As of now, I’m not your Herald.”

“What are you then?”

Jacob’s smile faltered. “Your friend, Leslie,” he said. Was it not clear? Well, it was true that he hadn’t acted like a friend before, so maybe it wasn’t all that clear.

Leslie nodded, wearing no emotion. “Okay.” He got to his feet and, to his surprise, he simply walked to his backpack without a hint of shame, and dug through it to find a pair of sweatpants. When he turned around and began to pull them on, he noticed that Jacob was staring at him. He had a wide smile on his face and his eyes were aimed a bit too low in Leslie’s opinion. Now he was ashamed.

“You look good. I meant what I said. You’re pretty.”

Leslie blushed and averted his eyes. “I… Thank you.” He stared at the floor, his shoulders hiked up. He knew it wasn’t the same, but hearing the word _pretty_ again brought back a lot of bad memories. Jacob wasn’t the first to call him that, and Leslie _knew_ it was a completely different thing. There was nothing similar about his stepfather and Jacob. Nothing. Then why did he feel so sick? “Can you say that again?” he asked, hoping the queasiness would subside if he just heard the word again and again.

“What? That you’re pretty?”

“Yeah.”

Jacob stepped closer. “You’re pretty.”

Leslie snapped his head up and smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Again.”

“You’re pretty. And handsome.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. What, are you saying that I have a bad taste?”

Leslie snorted. Then he started to laugh. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “And yes, I’m hungry. So, yeah, I could eat.”

“Alright. Ah, I forgot to tell you that there are solar panels at the back of the cabin. And a solar battery, so there’s some electricity stored,” Jacob said and grinned. “John’s doing. He hated the sound of the generator. Well, that is, when he still came here.”

“Oh,” Leslie muttered, thinking why was it that John didn’t come there anymore.

“Do you like red wine?” Jacob suddenly asked as he turned towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I made a rabbit stew with red wine.”

Leslie glanced around as if he was trying to locate the wine. Which he was because he hadn’t seen any when he’d rummaged through the cabinets earlier.

“There’s more in the ground cellar. I can grab a few bottles if you’d like some,” Jacob said.

“Yeah. That would be nice, actually. I can get them.”

“Alright. The cellar is just behind the cabin. It’s a bit of a stupid placement, but watcha gonna do? It’s not like I can move it.” Jacob grinned. “Or the cabin.”

Leslie stared at him. Then he snickered. He walked to the door and took a flashlight which was hanging from the coat rack as he shoved his feet into his boots. He paused. “Has the day changed yet?”

“No, it’s only eight. Why?”

With a shy smile, Leslie turned to look over his shoulder. When he met Jacob’s eyes, he said, “Happy forty-fifth birthday, Jacob”, with a quiet, soft voice, before pulling the door open and stepping outside into the surprisingly cold, and dark, April evening.

Jacob raised a brow. He didn’t even know Leslie knew when his birthday was. Suddenly it felt like those twenty-one years between them were but an eternity. Jacob cringed. He was getting old. As soon as he finished that thought, his knee began to ache. He glanced at it and said, “Don’t you start.”

When Leslie came back, he was holding two bottles of wine. “It’s cold,” he exclaimed and kicked the door shut. He walked up to Jacob, who was standing in front of the stove, stirring the stew, and placed the bottles on the counter. On a whim, he stood on his tiptoes and placed a small kiss on Jacob’s cheek.

He didn’t say anything. Actually, he didn’t even react at all. He stared at the stew, completely still. Leslie tugged at his arm, and it was as if he was snapped back into reality; he turned to face him, confusion written across his face. Then he did the only thing that made sense to him at that moment; he slipped his hands against Leslie’s jawline and kissed him. His lips were cold, but the soft exhale that escaped him was warm.

It was unlike any other kiss they’d shared. It was gentle, warm, and deep. Leslie stood still, his eyes closed, forgetting himself and everything around them. He brought his hands to Jacob’s arms and wrapped his fingers around his wrists. All he could hear was his heartbeat. And all he could think about were the soft, albeit a bit chapped lips against his. Then he was crying. For no reason in particular. Tears spilled down his cheeks and he bit back a sob. Jacob didn’t break the kiss, instead, he wrapped one arm around him and pulled him close. When Leslie couldn’t hold back his sobs anymore, Jacob pulled back slightly, rubbing his thumb against his wet cheek.

“Why are you crying?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. It just happens sometimes when I’m overwhelmed.” He glanced at the pot. “I don’t wanna ruin the food.” _Or the mood but that’s too late._

“Oh, yeah,” Jacob said and stepped back. He felt weirdly empty as he turned away from Leslie and stirred the stew. Luckily it was fine. He ignored Leslie as he sniffled and wiped his tears, as well as when he began to set the table without prompting. He darted back and forth, finally bringing the two bottles of wine to the small table. Everything barely fitted on top of it, but it was fine.

Leslie sat down to wait, staring at the empty plate in front of him. He lifted his head when Jacob said something.

“The plates,” he repeated, flailing his hand in odd motions.

“Right,” Leslie said and got to his feet. He took the plates with him and placed them on top of the counter, next to the stove. The contrast between Jacob the Herald and Jacob the civvie was kind of scary. Leslie stared at Jacob, wondering how could was it possible for the same man to humiliate and hurt him so fucking badly, but also take care of him and feed him and be kind to him. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, so he just focused on enjoying the moment. Things had crashed down before, and they would again. But as long as they were in that cabin, Leslie knew he could just breathe and relax. A wordless truce of some kind.

“It’s hot,” Jacob warned as Leslie carried the plates to the table. He received an exasperated sigh as a reply, and it made him grin. “Just sayin’,” he continued as he followed his Chosen, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m not a kid.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t treat me like it.”

And of course, Jacob laughed when Leslie nearly burned his tongue. The Chosen glared at him, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. He had barely managed to sit down when he’d already shoved a spoonful of food into his mouth — he was a lot hungrier than he’d initially thought. He emptied his glass and swirled the wine around in his mouth, trying to ease the burning sensation.

“I told you it’s hot.”

“Well, I didn’t believe you,” Leslie muttered and rolled his eyes. He poured more wine, only to entice an amused look from Jacob. “What?”

“It’s snowing,” he said and jerked his head toward the windows, not wanting to say that he hadn’t felt that content in a long, long time.

Leslie glanced over his shoulder. “I like snow,” he said when he flicked his eyes back to Jacob. He poked at his plateful with his spoon and winced. His tongue was aching.

“Good. Cos there’s gonna be plenty.”

“Of course,” Leslie said. “Plenty is fine, though.” He smiled shyly.

~***~

To say that Jacob was sorry for Leslie’s drunken state would’ve been a lie. When the Chosen returned from the bathroom, his hair was damp and messy, and his face glistening with water. Underneath the glisten, his skin was flushed and warm. Or so Jacob assumed. He set the plates in the sink, his eyes fixed on his Chosen’s.

“I might’ve…” Leslie started. He thought for a moment as he swayed. “How much did I drink?”

“We have four…” Jacob paused to turn around. “No, five.” He eyed the room. “Wait. Six empty bottles. You drank at least half. If not more.”

“I did not.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.” _This is getting ridiculous,_ Jacob thought. He wasn’t even drunk, just a bit tipsy. But fuck he wasn’t going to let Leslie win him in an argument.

“Did not,” Leslie said. He grinned and staggered toward the alcove. He sat on the edge of the bed and sighed heavily. “I’m drunk.”

“I know,” Jacob laughed. He went to his Chosen, but instead of sitting next to him, he dropped to his knees in front of him. He made Leslie smile when he rested his hands against his bare feet. It was a stupid, drunken smile, but it was still cute.

“Can later be now?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I want to later.” He paused. “I wanna have sex with you now.”

“Sure.”

Leslie pulled off his jumper and threw it somewhere behind Jacob and he stood, tugging his pants down with one swift movement. He kicked them off and sat back down. Without saying a word, he brought his hand to Jacob’s head and messed his hair thoroughly. Jacob grinned and pressed his lips against Leslie’s knee, but he quickly lifted his leg upward and trailed his lips along his shin. The moment he reached his ankle, he whimpered, his eyes falling half-shut as he nearly doubled over.

“Are you alright?” Jacob asked.

“Yes. It just feels good.”

“That so,” the Herald said with a smile. He pressed a kiss against Leslie’s foot, making him straighten his back. His breathing was ragged and uneven.

“Your beard.”

“What of it?”

“It… tickles. And you’re kinda roughing me up with it. But it’s nice.”

“Tell me…” He pressed another kiss on Leslie’s foot. “Would you.” Kiss. “Prefer.” Kiss. “To be.” Kiss. He was driving Leslie crazy and he knew it. “On top again?”

Leslie replied with a breathy, “Yes”. He stared at his Herald, his eyes half-lidded. He looked more flushed than just a moment ago, and it took Jacob far too long to realize that he was blushing — so yeah, maybe he was a bit drunk too. When he did realize it, he chuckled and slid his fingers against the arch of Leslie’s foot. He gasped and his whole body jerked, but Jacob could see it felt good, and that he was merely surprised.

Jacob stood, and as that motion was met with a petulant expression, almost like a pout, he said, “I have to undress.”

“Let me,” Leslie said and reached his hands towards his Herald. He grabbed the hem of his jumper and got to his feet, before pulling it off. It took him a bit of an effort to undo Jacob’s trousers, but when he managed, he felt victorious. It was stupid and he knew it. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was, that he felt good. He had a good, thick buzz going on and he was more than ready to ditch everything and stay in that cabin forever — ready to ditch Herald Jacob, that is, and keep civvie Jacob to himself.

“Are you alright?” Jacob asked, yanking Leslie back into reality.

“Ah. Yeah. Sorry.” He smiled and sat back down. “I feel a bit dizzy.”

“Well, you drank a lot of wine, so…” Jacob took off his trousers, along with his boxers and cupped Leslie’s face. He arched his back to press a quick kiss on his forehead. “Sure you’re up for this?” he muttered against his damp skin. As Leslie nodded, he tilted his head upward and kissed him. A sloppy, and wet kiss, but the adoring look Leslie had on his face warmed Jacob’s heart. He hummed, thinking what the fuck was wrong with him. It didn’t matter, though. They were far away from everything. At that moment, in that small cabin, there were no duties, no Eden’s Gate, no Joseph, no heretics, no sinners, no guilt, no nothing. Jacob finally let go of Leslie’s face and smiled down at him.

He didn’t have to ask Leslie to move; he did so by his own accord, leaving ample space for his Herald. He waited nervously, and bit anxiously, as Jacob climbed into bed next to him. They stared at each other for a moment, Leslie picking at his cuticles and Jacob smiling at his nervousness.

“Can I ask you something?” Leslie suddenly blurted out as if he’d been holding the question in for a long time. Which he had.

“Yeah.”

“How long… have you been taking those… pills.” _You dumbass. Viagra. It’s fucking Viagra! What are you, fourteen? Immature shit. You better—_ Leslie’s chiding inside his head was interrupted by Jacob’s answer.

“A year or so.”

It took a few seconds for Leslie to recompose himself. “Oh. Okay. So, it’s not me.”

“What? Why’d you think it was you?”

“I dunno. Just… a stupid thought I guess.”

“No. It’s not you. It’s… Anxiety. At least that’s what the doctor said. It’s complicated.”

“Okay.”

Leslie’s acceptance of the situation was confusing, but Jacob wasn’t going to complain about it. If anything, a part of him wanted to praise Leslie for being like he was. But in the end, he decided against it, thinking it would be juvenile and pathetic.

“Can I ask _you_ something?” Jacob asked as he laid on his back and pulled Leslie next to him.

“Sure, go ahead,” he replied, slurring more than he did just a moment ago.

“Have you ever slept with a woman?”

“I tried.”

“Couldn’t get it up?”

“No, no. I could yeah. Just… didn’t wanna go through with it.”

Jacob chuckled.

“You know what I like?” Leslie asked and sat up. He laid his hand on Jacob’s chest and gave a weird smile.

“What’s that?”

“Foreplay,” he said, dragging his hand downward.

“Yeah? What does that entail then? I enjoy hearing what you like.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Makes sex a lot more fun when you know what the other one likes.”

Leslie forced a smile. He wanted to say that it would be fun if people stopped forcing him to do stuff he didn’t want to do, but then again, he really didn’t want to even think about it, let alone say it out loud, afraid he’d dampen the mood. Or worse, cause himself a panic attack.

To rid himself of the harrowing thoughts that were starting to fill his mind, Leslie leaned over Jacob and took the lube, keeping that same smile on his face. He hoped that Jacob wouldn’t notice that it was fake. If he didn’t think about the past, then yes, he wanted to have sex with him. If he did include the past in his thoughts, he wasn’t sure if he wanted it or not. He was afraid that the answer would be yes, and that it would show just how damaged he was.

There was only a small trace of that nervous wreck of a man left, when Leslie settled between Jacob’s legs, his free hand kneading into the firm muscles on his thigh. It made Jacob breathe out forcefully as if he’d been holding his exhale for a while. And there they were again, Leslie realized, the blown-out pupils. He had no idea why he was so fixated on them, but seeing the arousal in Jacob’s eyes was something out of this world.

“What are you looking at?”

Leslie smiled, abashed. “Your eyes.”

“What about them?”

“Your pupils.”

Jacob grinned. “Yours are dilated.”

“Yours too.”

“It’s hot.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.”

Leslie chuckled. “I think so too.” He dipped his head briefly and chuckled, “I’m drunk.”

“Too drunk?”

“No,” he replied and snapped his head up.

Jacob watched as Leslie poured the lube onto his hand, rubbing his fingers together. His gray eyes were slightly narrowed like they always were when he was concentrating hard. It was cute.

“We don’t have to jump straight into fucking, you know.”

Leslie rolled his eyes. “I wanna do it. If we dither around, I’ll most likely pass out before we’re done.” His voice was thicker than before and he was speaking slower as if he was trying to be as articulate as possible. Without waiting for Jacob to answer, he grabbed his Herald’s flaccid dick with his clean hand, full of bold intention now that he was drunk, and locked eyes with him. Then he lowered himself and shuffled backward, only to slide his tongue along the length, all the while maintaining eye-contact. The familiar salty, a bit acrid taste filled his mouth, as he pressed his tongue against the opening of the urethra. It would’ve been a lie to say that he didn’t like it one bit.

Even though it felt a bit silly, Leslie took Jacob’s still-flaccid dick into his mouth, and moved his lube-slathered hand against his hole and began to instantly press his index finger inside. It had the exact reaction he was waiting for; Jacob’s hips jerked and he hissed, gritting his teeth together. He threaded a hand amidst Leslie’s hair, being mindful of not hurting him when he latched onto the damp strands.

“I told you,” Jacob panted. “that I would teach you tricks.”

Leslie pulled back, adding another finger. “Yeah?”

“Keep doing what you’re doing. That’s… One of those tricks.” He was struggling to speak, as he was gasping for breath. He snarled when the Chosen flexed his fingers, pushing them toward his stomach as he took his dick into his mouth again.

Leslie wanted to say out loud how much he liked listening to his Herald, but his mouth was full, so it was impossible. He fought back the urge to gag when Jacob began to harden in his mouth, and he slowly pushed a third finger inside him, spreading them and moving them back and forth as if he was experimenting. Which he was. Every moan and whine that fell from Jacob’s lips were precious to him, and the sounds made his heart clench. He was still unaccustomed to the bitter taste of precum, but it was more tolerable than ever before.

“Leslie,” Jacob hissed, tugging at his hair. “Stop teasing.”

“How is this teasing?” the Chosen asked, out of breath as he pulled back and slid his fingers out. He moved upward, his nails digging into Jacob’s thighs. There was a sliver of desperation in his eyes as he stared at him, his wet lips parting with a soft, shaky exhale. He stayed on his knees when his eyes started to travel downward. He reached his clean hand and brushed it against Jacob’s chest, softly kneading his fingers into the scar tissue on his chest.

“What are you doing?” the Herald asked quietly.

“Looking at you.” Leslie smiled shyly and dragged his hand downward, across Jacob’s stomach and down to his side, over his hip and finally leaving it to rest against his thigh. “You’re handsome.”

“You told me that.”

“I know. Wanted to say it again,” Leslie said and moved closer, glad that Jacob lifted his hips and bent his knees to help him. “Do you have any preference?” he asked as he shuffled even closer, guiding his dick to a better position.

“Preference?”

“Yeah. Like… would you rather be on top, or… You know,” Leslie muttered and pushed inside. Because he was drunk, everything felt almost vapid compared to before, and it frustrated him. He winced and pushed inside to the hilt, causing a tremble to run through Jacob’s body.

“I,” he paused to catch his breath. “I don’t think I have any preference.”

“Really?” Leslie asked, surprised, and placed his hands against his Herald’s stomach. He didn’t move yet, just kept still, savoring the feeling. It wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been before, but it was still good.

“No. Both feel good.” He jerked his hips.

Leslie gasped and began to pull out, only to push quickly back inside. He whined as he rutted into his Herald, and he could feel when his muscles tensed underneath his hands. Trying his hardest, he managed to keep his movements smooth and at an even pace. Not a fast pace by no means, but it was even.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jacob winced. “Sure.”

“Is it possible to just… come from this?”

“Some can, yeah.”

“Oh. Can you?”

“Depends,” Jacob replied, his voice strained. “Angle yourself a bit differently.” He gasped. “So that the angle is a bit more toward my stomach.”

Leslie frowned and paused. Then he shuffled about and placed his hands on Jacob’s hips. “Like this?” he asked and rolled his hips tentatively.

“Yeah, just so,” Jacob murmured. He placed his hands over his Chosen’s and smiled curtly. “Keep going. You’re doing so well.”

Leslie was still clumsy and kind of pathetic, but Jacob couldn’t focus on it; his eyes were fixated on the deep, red tint on his cheeks and his tongue, which flicked out to wet his lips. Underneath the clumsiness was a burning determination, which made his brow furrow as the smoothly rolling pace started to grow quicker and more forceful. Tremors were beginning to run through Jacob’s body, but Leslie just gritted his teeth and fucked him, his nails pressing bloody half-moons into his hips. Of course, he’d noticed his Herald trembling, and it made him all the more determined to achieve his goal, which he wasn’t ready to say out loud; he wanted to make him cum, and he wanted to do it without even touching his dick.

“Good boy, Leslie,” the Herald praised. He keened as Leslie began to fuck him in earnest and his thrusts, if possible, gained more force and vigor with every passing second. The pace was far from the rapid, nearly painful pace he was used to with others, but if possible, Leslie’s ruts growing erratic and forceful were far more arousing than anything else. At times he still felt clumsy and haphazard, but it wasn’t as prominent as before.

“I want,” Leslie started. He tugged his nails off of Jacob’s skin and moved his hands to his knees, slipping his fingers against the bends. “you to fuck me later.” He received a loud moan as a response, and he took it as a yes. When Jacob brought his hand closer to his dick, Leslie snapped, “No!” and stopped moving altogether, his teeth clenched tight. Jacob bit back the urge to smack him, and he breathed out to ease the uncoiling panic in his stomach.

“What?” he asked, clutching the sheets into his hands instead of smacking the hell out of his Chosen. Startling a drunk, PTSD’d veteran wasn’t probably the stupidest thing Leslie had done, but it was close.

“Let me.”

Jacob blinked in confusion. Then realization spread across his face and he nodded. He keened as Leslie continued fucking him. It was far from the pathetic humping from before, and it was as if he’d stop fearing he might hurt Jacob, or maybe it was just because he was drunk and couldn’t come as easily. Whatever the reason for his newfound brazenness was, Jacob was enjoying himself. He was panting, but ever so often a whine or a whimper would escape him.

Leslie flicked his eyes downward and moaned as he saw Jacob’s dick twitch. Although his legs were numb for having his weight on them the whole time, he didn’t wish to move. The position was slightly awkward, yes, but seeing how some of his harsher thrusts made Jacob’s breathing catch, it was all worth it.

“Harder,” Jacob suddenly uttered, his chest heaving as he tried to keep his breathing level. Leslie did as was told and picked up his pace. Now it was bordering on painful, and as he slammed inside particularly harshly, Jacob tensed and his back arched. He held his breath a moment before he exhaled forcefully and released against his own stomach with a groan. “Keep going,” he hissed as Leslie paused, his eyes fixated on the strings of eggshell white cum spreading against Jacob’s skin. Again he obeyed and quickly let his pace spiral out of control. He kept rutting inside as fast as he could, his shoulders hiked up and his eyes closed. Jacob watched as he winced and let out a throaty whine. He pressed deep inside, his whole body trembling as he came. His head dipped and he slouched, his hips jerking a few times.

“Was I good?”

Jacob felt as if his heart constricted upon hearing the uncertainty and fear bleeding into Leslie’s voice. “Yes, you were really good,” he assured, out of breath.

“Okay,” he muttered and pulled out a bit too quickly, startling Jacob. “Don’t take this as a reaction to what we just did,” he continued as he hopped off the bed. Jacob was just about to ask what the hell, but when Leslie hurried to the bathroom, his hand pressed against his mouth, that question became obsolete.

“Shit,” Jacob said quietly as he momentarily draped an arm over his eyes. He listened to his Chosen retching and heaving, and he regretted letting him drink so much. But then again, taking care of a hungover Leslie had a certain appeal. Jacob cringed at himself and sighed, wiping off his cum from his stomach and then just wiping it to the sheets. It wasn’t like he was ready to get up from the warm bed to shower.

Finally, the toilet flushed and the tap was turned on. It took Leslie a while to come back, and when Jacob turned his head to look at him, his brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry,” Leslie muttered, his eyes watery — from hurling his guts out, most likely — and crawled into bed. Jacob made room for him so he wouldn’t have to start climbing over him. “I’m never drinking red wine again.” He was shivering as he pressed into Jacob.

“Well, you drank too much.”

“It’s not that. I get a migraine from it. And then I get nauseous.”

“Idiot,” Jacob huffed. But his tone was warm. He rolled to his side and threw his arm over his Chosen, pulling him against his chest. He smelled sweet, which was the wine, but also salty and a bit acrid.

“Yeah,” Leslie said quietly, pinching his brow. “Hurts like hell.”

“Try to sleep. It’ll help, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You were good, you really were,” Jacob murmured softly and pressed his nose amidst Leslie’s hair. He hummed. “I have to admit it’s nice to have some company out here.”

“Even if it’s me?”

“No. It’s nice because it’s you, Leslie.”

Leslie’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say. As he squeezed his eyes shut, still pinching his brow, he began to drift asleep. He was exhausted, drunk and content, and the drilling, burning migraine he had didn’t dampen his mood one bit. If possible, he pressed tighter into his Herald, nuzzling the rough hairs on his chest, a warm, lapping feeling filling his chest. He couldn’t recognize that feeling, and he was too tired to focus on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, and once again, so sorry it took me so long to post this here again. and also... i updated this on January sooooo. sorry sorry sorry!!


	7. My Heart Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told you. No one touches you except me. You’re mine. Only mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo! Chapter seven, y'all! It's shorter than what I usually put out, but I wasn't willing to stretch it just for the sake of it. I hope y'all enjoy this. And I'm really sorry it took ME A YEAR TO UPDATE THIS. As some of you remember, I originally published chapter six back in January 2020, and boy oh boy what a year it was.
> 
> I solemnly swear I ain't gonna take a YEAR with the next chap, because it's almost done (I've said this before, I know).
> 
> Song rec for this chapter is Mein Herz Brennt by Rammstein

After lazing underneath the warm covers for what seemed like a small eternity, praying the world outside to just disappear, Leslie finally threw the covers off and sat up. He sighed, mussing his hand through his tangled hair and glancing over to his right, only to find the bed empty yet again. Annoyance flashed across his thoughts, but he pushed it away, not willing to address it just yet.

Sunlight forced its way through the old, worn windows, momentarily blinding Leslie as he turned his head to locate Jacob. He blinked to shoo away the intrusive light, a head-splitting pain rippling along his skull. With a groan, he threw his legs on the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose. After crying himself to sleep, he’d been plagued by nightmares and he felt as if though he hadn’t slept at all. Crying hadn’t helped. It hadn’t changed the fact that they’d have to leave soon.

Knowing they had only one day left had thrown Leslie. Time had lost its meaning, being surrounded by the otherworldliness of the snow-filled forest, and now all he wanted was for time to stop. To freeze in that moment, so it could be preserved, not just in his memory, but in real life too.

It wasn’t possible, and Leslie knew it. He also knew that no matter how many days or weeks they’d spend away from the Project, it wouldn’t suddenly stop existing, or suddenly stop mattering. It didn’t mean that his duties would be nullified. His work awaited him, as did Jacob’s. It was a depressing thought.

Craving for a cigarette, Leslie got dressed and headed outside, only to find the world full of snow. Familiar bootprints ran from the door toward the treeline, disappearing amidst the trees a few yards into the forest. He shoved the creaky door shut, an unlit cigarette parked between his lips, not willing to follow the footprints, even though they’d take him to Jacob.

Barely able to prevent a gust of wind from snuffing the flame out from his lighter, Leslie finally managed to light the cigarette, hands trembling from the lack of nicotine in his system. He leaned against the cabin’s wall, staring at the low branches hanging heavy with snow, bending toward the ground, like archways into a different world.

Taking a long drag, Leslie realized that the familiar loneliness he used to live with before Eden’s Gate was creeping up on him again. His whole body ached, needing to be touched and acknowledged. The realization that he wanted Jacob, and not only in that innocent ‘I want to hold his hand’ kind of way, but in that ‘I want him to fuck me senseless’ kind of way, was a scary one.

Lust was a very unfamiliar feeling for him. But he knew it wasn’t just lust, and it wasn’t just need and desire and sex. It was a foreign, warm feeling residing beneath his ribs, shielded by bone and muscle, hidden from view. A feeling that made him lose his bearings whenever Jacob uttered his name. Something he’d thought impossible.

It all confused the hell out of him. Something had shifted in a very permanent, terrifying way. His stomach was now full of butterflies, their wings scraping the lining of his stomach until he was sick, and his head was full of Jacob this and Jacob that.

Deep in thought, Leslie flicked the ashes from his cigarette. He stared at his boots, gnawing at his lip, unaware that he was being watched. Drawing abstract designs into the snow with the tip of his boot, he hummed quietly to himself, fumbling for a familiar tune.

Jacob struggled not to smile, and as he contemplated whether or not he should scare the living daylight out of his Chosen, he stepped on a twig. Leslie’s head snapped up, and for a moment he looked absolutely terrified. Then his expression melted into a smile, and he awkwardly waved his hand, flicking ashes into the snow.

Chuckling to himself, Jacob walked out of the forest, an ax hanging from his belt, tapping at his thigh, and a bundle of logs tucked underneath his arm. He waded through the snow, his hair and beard coated with snowflakes. His breath swirled skyward, disappearing into the sunlight bleeding through the trees.

“You’re awake,” Jacob stated as he got closer. He stepped over the two steps leading to the porch, stomping his feet. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not well,” Leslie replied, chucking his cigarette away. “I,” he paused, eyeing his Herald. “I wondered where you were.” The cold was starting to nip at his cheeks, and he shuddered, rubbing his arms.

“Just gettin’ a bit more wood. Couldn’t bear to wake you.” He smiled, jerking his head. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure. Jake?”

Jacob froze, hand resting on the door handle. “Yeah?” Leslie had  _ never _ called him  _ Jake. _ His stomach wound into a tight knot.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Suppose.”

“It’s about… Miller.”

Something flashed in Jacob’s eyes, and he frowned. “Yeah, just… Let me make some coffee first.” He pulled the door open, a pained expression written across his face.

On autopilot, Jacob made the coffee, his thoughts going in circles. Miller was a subject he rarely brought up or even thought of. There were only three people who knew everything, and now Leslie was going to be the fourth. He took pause, wondering if he  _ really _ wanted to tell the details.

Leslie was sitting on the floor, near the fireplace, as Jacob walked over to him, still unsure. He plopped down on the couch, handing a mug to his Chosen. “Miller,” he said, voice nearly giving in, dipping into the lower registers. “Why?”

“Uh, I,” Leslie paused to cross his legs. “I’ve heard rumors. And I wanna hear what you have to say. I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Alright, then.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Miller…” Jacob paused, eyes aimed past Leslie. His eyes glassed over as if he was now far away. “He was younger than me. Scared, nervous little thing. He used to lean into me a lot, especially when we had to sleep under the stars. He was always nervous. I mean  _ always. _ Worrying ‘bout the littlest of things.” His voice was awfully calm, almost sullen.

“How much younger?”

“Few years, give or take. But he was a good soldier, albeit a nervous one. I trusted him. Everyone did, eventually.”

“Eventually?”

Jacob grimaced. “You gotta understand that people were blatantly racist back then.” He said it with a dangerous edge, eyes narrowing as he thought of something. “One guy called him a wetback till I put an end to it.”

Leaning back, Leslie bit his tongue. The anger that crossed his Herald’s face was unsettling. “Were you… together?” he asked quietly, not wanting to poke and prod, but being curious enough to not ask.

Jacob shook his head. “No. He was my boyfriend’s brother. That’s how we knew each other. Then, as fate would have it, we ended up in that fucking desert together. Me and Kenneth, we broke up when Miller died. It was too much for him.”

“Did you really eat him?” Leslie asked carefully, voice tight. His hands shook and his brow knitted into a scowl. He really didn’t know what to think of it.

“I did.”

“Oh.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No. It… it sounds grim. I’d never be able to do anything like that.” It wasn’t an accusation, although he feared it might sound like one.

“It  _ was _ grim. I needed to survive. All I could think of was getting back home to Kenneth, and… finding my brothers.” Jacob tilted his head, staring at the ceiling rather than facing Leslie. “Kenneth doesn’t know. I never told him. I… said that he succumbed to his injuries. That’s the official story, actually. I couldn’t bear to tell him. Can you imagine how that would feel?”

“How’d you and Kenneth meet?”

A smile spread to Jacob’s face. “One night in Lexington, years ago, I was going somewhere. Can’t even remember where. Doesn’t even matter. There was this tall, lanky man walking in front of me, just minding his own business, and some guys started to harass him. ‘Fuckin’ spic’, they called him. ‘Get back to where you came from.’ Things like that. I intervened. Beat the shit outta one of them.”

“And that was Kenneth?”

“Yeah.”

“You loved him.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jacob still answered. “Yeah. I did.” He turned his head to look at Leslie. “It was difficult, though. None of it was easy.”

“I can’t even imagine.” Leslie laid down his mug and crawled closer, laying his head on Jacob’s thigh, tugging at a loose thread sticking from the seam of his jeans. “I’m sorry. I guess. I dunno what one’s supposed to say in a situation like this.”

Jacob chuckled, shaking his head, threading his fingers amidst Leslie’s hair. He really needed a haircut, he thought, rubbing circles against his scalp. “Yeah. I wouldn’t know either.”

“We still have few hours, yeah?”

“More than a few, why?”

“I wanna have sex before we leave.” A peal of laughter startled Leslie, and he glared at his Herald, head cocked back as he laughed. “What?”

“Nothin’ much,” Jacob drawled, touching the tip of Leslie’s nose softly. He grinned, teeth flashing, and upended his mug, emptying it to the last drop.

~***~

“We just gotta keep a low profile,” Jacob muttered into the crook of Leslie’s neck. He jerked his hips, pressing deeper into his Chosen, biting back a low moan. “It’s gonna be alright,” he assured — himself or Leslie, he couldn’t say — as he began to roll his hips, gently as if scared something would break. As if Leslie wasn’t made of flesh and bone, but glass.

“Say it again,” Leslie groaned, practically begged, wrapping his legs around Jacob, and driving his heels into his thighs. His breath was warm and damp, uneven.

“I’m proud of you.”

“You are?” he asked, even though he saw the answer from his Herald’s eyes.

“Mmh. Such a good boy,” Jacob murmured, moving slowly, with deliberateness, enticing a quiet keen from his Chosen. “You took it well.” He slipped his hand between their bodies, feeling the slickness of the blood on Leslie’s stomach. As he brushed his fingers over the numbers he’d carved into his skin —  _ 6:4 _ — he smiled, pleased, dragging blood as he pulled his hand away. A passing thought, that’s all it had been, yet Leslie had agreed instantly.

To be marked, to have something  _ carved _ into his skin. It truly, and wholly, made Leslie part of the family. Jacob winced, thinking that he’d get scolded and yelled at by Joseph if he’d ever find out. He’d have to make sure he never did.

Leslie’s skin had given in easily, and the knife had dug into it so effortlessly. During it all, he hadn’t said a word, making Jacob very proud. And now he was so malleable, so soft, warm,  _ eager _ that it made Jacob’s head spin. Carving those two numbers into Leslie’s skin had torn the uncertainty from his bones faster than anything else ever could. Not that Jacob would ever admit it, but it was one of the reasons he’d done it.

“I told you,” Jacob said with a hushed tone, rutting harshly into his Chosen. “No one touches you except me. You’re mine. Only mine.”

Leslie nodded, eyes wide and sharp, glued to his Herald’s. He was panting, drawing long, shuddering breaths, trying to keep it all together.  _ Faster, harder, _ he thought, unwilling to say it out loud, jerking his hips against Jacob’s, trying to convey all of his needs and wants without saying a word.

Whether Jacob understood or not, was meaningless, because the rolling movements of his hips grew faster, as he rutted deeper into his Chosen. He let his mind grow barren, letting go of everything that might worry him. The smell of salt filled his lungs as he leaned his forehead against Leslie’s, glancing down at the mess they’d made.

He slipped his hand between them once again, this time wrapping his fingers around Leslie’s dick. Moving his hand back and forth, he watched as Leslie went through motions, his eyes now unfocused. A moan got caught in his throat, and the familiar rigidness filled his limbs just moments before he came into Jacob’s hand.

Soon after, as Jacob came, he dug his teeth into Leslie’s neck, his tongue pressing against his pulse. He bit down until the skin popped and the soft flesh gave in. The pain made a low wail escape Leslie’s throat, and he squirmed and clawed at Jacob’s back, gnashing his teeth to block out the pain.

When they parted, Leslie moved his palm against the fresh wounds, taking in the slickness and coolness of the blood and the stickiness of the cum smeared on his stomach. He glanced over to Jacob, noting how the mess everywhere; on his stomach, chest, hands, thighs, soaked into the sheets… It was as if they were now one. Leslie smiled, reaching his hand to lace his fingers with Jacob’s.

“I’ve wanted to do that since John,” Jacob suddenly said, flicking his eyes to his Chosen, leaving the rest of the sentence to hang in the air. “I wanted to make sure no one would touch you.”

To give everything to a single name… It had been a good choice. A good decision. Leslie closed his eyes, glad that he was taken; life, body, heart, and soul, all claimed by someone far divine than he could ever be. Every inch of his body was charted territory, every cell conquered. There was nothing left, save for the air flowing in and out of his lungs. And when the end would come, he’d join Faith and his angels.

“We gotta move,” Jacob muttered quietly, breaking the silence. He sighed, dragging his free hand through his hair.

Leslie replied with a sullen, “Yeah”. He slowly sat up, pulling his hand away from Jacob’s before throwing his feet on the floor. Pulling a first-aid kit from his bag, he walked into the kitchen, naked, Jacob’s gaze lingering on his back.

As the rubbing alcohol hit Leslie’s skin, he hissed, biting down to his tongue. “Fuck,” he snarled, brushing the gauze over the cuts, wiping off the blood as well as he could. The pain made him happy. It made him content. Even though it didn’t make any sense. It made electrical impulses bounce around in his brain, as if his body was just as confused as he was.

~***~

Melting snow ran as rivulets along the veteran’s center’s walls, a constant dribbling sound echoing in the premises. Although Leslie had let go of Jacob’s hand when they’d crossed into Whitetail Mountains, his palm was still tingling from the touch, as if their hands were still interlocked with each other. He’d parted from his Herald just before entering the building, merely glancing at him as he hurried to his duties, crossing the muddy yard with long, frustrated strides.

Feeling elated and downright giddy, Leslie ran up the stairs, trying hard to stop smiling. He slipped through the door, heading straight toward Jacob’s bedroom, now grinning wildly as no one could see him anymore. His legs carried him with ease, the exhaustion of before now long gone. The skin in his stomach burned and stung, but it didn’t matter.

He’d been terrified of returning to his work, but now he felt as if anything was possible. There was no reason to be scared, or anxious. He’d be alright in the end. Jacob wasn’t going to leave him, and as long as they kept a low profile, Joseph wouldn’t intervene. At least, that’s what Jacob had promised. Whether Leslie trusted his words a hundred percent, he wasn’t sure, but that’s what he told himself.

Leslie hummed to himself, chucking his backpack on the floor. Then, a squeaky sound stirred him; wet boots against creaking floorboards. He swung around, hand on his pistol, only to meet Jack’s gaze.

“Hey, Les,” he greeted, wearing no emotion. “You’re back,” he said with a displaced lilt, flashing a smile.

The foreignness of the statement baffled Leslie. “What’re you doing here?” He wanted to say that Jack had absolutely  _ no right _ to be in Jacob’s bedroom and that the right had been reserved to  _ him and him alone, _ but he swallowed his words, not daring to go against his friend.

Jack shrugged his shoulders, pulling his pistol out of its holster. He weighed it, a weird smile caressing his lips. “Well… I’m sorry, laddie. But you’re wrong. And so’s he. The Father,” he spat. “For fuck’s sake. Can’t believe you’re really this stupid.” He pointed the pistol at Leslie, pulling back the hammer. “Get on the floor.” He jerked his head, swivel-eyed, a deer waiting to be pounced by a cougar.

Leslie forced out a wry chuckle. “This isn’t funny.” His voice wavered as if his body knew something he didn’t.

“Good. ‘Cos this isn’t a joke. Get on the bloody floor,” Jack snarled, impatient, taking a step closer. As Leslie didn’t move a muscle, he grabbed the Chosen by his neck, kicking his legs from underneath him, sending him to the floor with a thud.

With his face pressed against the cold floor, Leslie knew he should fight, but he couldn’t muster up the courage. He could feel the barrel of Jack’s pistol between his shoulder blades, pressing down with far too much force. He blinked, confused, trying to understand why Jack would do something like it. The pain made his eyes water as the man he’d considered friend leaned closer, his weight causing his ribs to ache.

“Keep your mouth shut, Les, and I won’t have to shoot you,” Jack muttered into Leslie’s ear, ripping the radio off of his belt and chucking it underneath Jacob’s bed. His pistol followed closely behind. “Listen, and listen closely. If you wanna live, don’t say a word, and do as I tell you, alright? Do you understand? Do you fucking understand?” He was growing impatient with every passing second.

“Yes,” Leslie replied as quietly as he could, his breathless voice weak and hollow, his heart beginning to pick up the pace. Panic shot up through him, and he was ready to fight, but the urge to fight came too slowly.

“I really am sorry.”

A prickle of pain sunk into Leslie’s skin, and he opened his mouth to say something, but then his vision broke into pieces like a kaleidoscope, and a familiar tingling sensation rippled underneath his skin. The scent around him reminded him of the menthol cigarettes that he smoked, but it wasn’t that, but Bliss. Whatever he wanted to say just a second ago slipped from his mind. A whoosh-like sound filled his head, as if he’d been submerged in water. His thoughts died one by one like burnt lightbulbs, and he fell into a murky darkness. The last thing he fixated on, was Jacob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, AND for your patience! Drop a kudos and/or a comment if you have the time.


	8. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Someone took him. I know it. Someone came in here and took him. It just doesn’t happen. It’s not supposed to happen. Some little piece of shit invaded my home and stole something from me. He didn’t leave. He wouldn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the tags again. This chapter contains fairly graphic depictions of torture, so if that's something you're not comfortable with, tread lightly.
> 
> I was supposed to publish this like... in a few weeks but I couldn't resist the temptation lol. I hope y'all are, uh, enjoying this fic.
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: Blut by Lindemann

A high-pitched creak shot through Leslie’s stupor, and before he managed to fully wake up, he was already being dragged somewhere. He tried to struggle, but his every movement was met with hands restraining him; a hand on his neck, fingers digging into his arms, nails against his pulse, one hand threaded amidst his hair, cocking his head backward.

“Put him there,” someone said, their voice snaking into Leslie’s mind, tugging at the seams of his brain, trying to pull apart the confusion and disorientation to serve him a memory. The voice was familiar, eerily familiar, yet somehow foreign. Its lilt was displaced, its tone too pleased.

Leslie wailed as the hands suddenly let go of him, and his knees thudded against the hard floor. There was almost nothing left of his balance, so he keeled over, and his head banged against the concrete. A sickening, hollow thud followed, causing his stomach to twist into a tight, painful knot. As he forced his eyes open, he caught a glimpse of a steel door swinging shut with a clank. A pair of dusty boots stopped right in front of him, and the owner of said boots squatted down, grabbing Leslie by his hair and twisting his neck until it hurt.

“Hey there, Les.”

“Jack?” Leslie muttered, his eyes narrowed, his lips parted. Memories flooded him. Yes, Jack, he’d attacked him. But why? Jack was his friend.  _ Had _ been his friend. What the hell was going on?

“I saved you, Les. Didn’t I? From  _ him, _ right?” He sounded so pleased with himself.

“I don’t understand,” he replied, voice throaty.

“Like I said, you’re wrong,” Jack muttered under his breath, with a foreign, manic edge to his voice. His eyes were wide, gleaming in the cold light in a terrifyingly familiar way. And suddenly Leslie felt like he was fourteen again; emotionally flayed, and used and abused by his stepfather. He’d seen the same look too many times. He knew what usually followed such a look. That look made the blood freeze in his veins.

“And now, as a payment, so to speak,” Jack continued. “You’re gonna have to tell us everything about the plans.”

“I… I don’t understand. What plans?” Leslie's brow knitted into a worried frown, his eyes wide and unfocused.

“Playing dumb might work with that bastard of a man, but it sure as fuck ain’t working with me,” the Scot snarled, teeth bared. He stood up, letting go of Leslie’s hair and scoffing as his head thudded against the floor once again. Disgust twisted his expression. “Eli, give me a hand, would ya?”

Leslie flinched. Eli  _ fucking _ Palmer. Suddenly the pieces clicked together, and he bit his tongue, horrified and clueless as to what he was supposed to do next.  _ What fucking plans?! _ he screamed inside his head. Sure, he wasn’t the first one to be snatched by Eli and his fucking Whitetails — not even the first Chosen — but  _ none _ of those who’d been taken had returned alive or in one piece. This, whatever the hell this was, was his death sentence. Harrowing, nauseating realization filled him; he'd never see the light of day again. He'd never see Jacob again.

“Kiddie pool?” Jack asked, clattering about. His voice came afar.

“Kiddie pool,” Eli replied flatly.

Together they heaved the disoriented Leslie onto a wooden chair and strapped him into it, placing his bare feet into a blue kiddie pool filled with ice-cold water. He flicked his eyes away from his trembling legs, understanding what was about to happen. He’d seen his share of pain, bled his share of blood more than once, but the red cables, the same shade as his jumper, coils of them, on the floor like hibernating snakes made his breathing catch.

“The plans,” Jack said, a thin-veneer of sweetness to his voice as he wrapped a rancid-smelling cloth around Leslie’s head, making sure his eyes were fully covered. He clapped his shoulder, as a weird, twisted 'atta boy' of sorts.

“Jack, I—”

The first surge of electricity was just a tiny, sharp pain shooting through Leslie’s body. Almost like touching an electric fence used to keep cattle inside a pasture. The second surge was stronger, and it made his head snap back, and his muscles constrict again and again as if someone was wringing them dry like a wet cloth. It didn't feel hot like he’d expected; it was more like he was submerged in frigid water, and his skin prickled before growing numb. Then it was over like nothing had happened.

“Well?” Jack asked, condescendingly patting Leslie’s cheek. “Just tell me. Think of this… as kind of a confession. It’ll cleanse your soul.” His tone was mocking. He gave a wry chuckle.

“Stop it, please. I—” Leslie started, but his sentence was cut off by Jack’s hand crossing his face with such force that he smelled iron, tasted salt. Bright spots flickered on and off, dancing a macabre waltz against his eyelids. There was no logic to Jack’s apparent insanity, and Leslie knew it. Had he done something to piss him off? Or had everything been just part of some wicked plan?

“I saved you!” Jack suddenly screamed, holding Leslie’s shoulders tightly, his fingers curving into the flesh. “I saved you,” he repeated, softer this time, his fingers drawing deceptively loving circles. “Don’t you see that? Jacob brainwashed you, he—”

“No,” Leslie interrupted, jerking his head to the side. “It’s not true.” He dipped his head, his heart beating so rapidly it felt like it was going to tear apart from its seams. Being blindfolded was a horror unlike he’d ever experienced before; he had no idea what was going to happen next. But the nauseating rag covering his eyes wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was being at the utter mercy of Jack who seemed to think of himself as some omnipotent God who could inflict pain with the flick of a finger. It was surreal, to say the least. In that small, dingy room, Jack was a kid with a magnifying glass pretending to be God. And Leslie? Well, he was just an ant whose feelers were about to be burned off.

“What does Jacob have that I don’t?” Jack asked quietly as if Eli couldn’t hear him from a few feet away. As if his voice didn't echo in that room. Jealousy burned in his veins like acid. “You make no sense, lad, no sense at all. It’s like you’re trying to self-destruct. Just tell us about the plans and this’ll all be over.” He sighed when he got no response and stepped back. “Let’s try again.”

Leslie’s whole body tensed like a string of a violin, his arms fighting against the tight restraints around his wrists. The cold fire upon his skin, the awful, crackling, buzzing noise inside his head, his body, soaking his bones with pain — all of it — fused together into a thick mist of out of place thoughts and finally morphing into a scream which tore his lungs open. He was sure his spine would snap in two, or at least break into millions of pieces as his back curled and his head snapped backward. At least something would break, that he was sure of.

But nothing did. Again, it was over as soon as it had begun. To his horror, Leslie could feel his body betraying him, as he lost control of his muscles. His head hung heavy as a boulder, and he wetted himself, his breathing stalling for a moment before returning to a rhythm feigning regularity. Shame turned his cheeks red, the humiliation stinging worse than the electricity itself. He gritted his teeth, grinding them together, his body struggling to make sense of the plethora of electrical impulses whizzing inside his brain.

“The plans, Les.”

“No plans," he coughed. The metallic taste grew stronger like he’d been licking brass. “I don’t know about any plans,” he added, gasping for breath after every word. His heart dropped into his stomach, making him sick. He wanted to throw up, but he held it back, terrified of Jack’s anger.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know them. You’re  _ fucking _ him! You went through their finances. I know all about the papers.”

“The… papers,” Leslie repeated, head spinning. He wanted to laugh. It was about the fucking paperwork? “I didn’t… read them.”

“Bullshit!”

“I just organized.” He knew that even if he  _ had _ read them, he wouldn’t remember a thing. Numbers meant nothing to him, no matter how important they might’ve been. It's not like he was even interested in the Project's finances. And even  _ if _ he'd remember anything, he'd never betray Jacob. Or the Father.

Another surge. But this time, it lasted. And it lasted. It felt like an eternity. Leslie’s mouth was numb, his breathing ceased as the electricity threw his whole body out of balance. A faint buzzing filled his head, growing louder until it was a deafening, constant rumble. Suddenly, it stopped, the residual electricity making his muscles twitch, and his arms jerk against the restraints. Breathing took a tremendous amount of effort. It hurt. Everything hurt. A wet, gurgling noise rose from his throat as he filled his lungs with foul-smelling air.

With the flick of a finger, Jack sent yet another surge of electricity through Leslie, which made him bite down to his tongue. Something gave in with a nauseating pop, and blood burst into his mouth, fat drops of red sliding between his lips and down to his chin. The drops bloomed into bright red flowers on his dirty jacket, blotting the urban camouflage with rust. The smell was overwhelming. It was too much. Not strong enough to fight the nausea swirling in his stomach anymore, Leslie gave in and threw up, almost suffocating as he gagged and heaved, spitting out bile.

“Jack, that’s enough. He clearly doesn’t know anything.”

“Sod off, Eli. I  _ know _ he does.”

Leslie listened to the scuffing and shuffling in the room. A soft sigh followed. “Do as you please,” Eli said quietly. “But this,” he paused, presumably to flail his hand. “I have nothing to do with. I’m not condoning this, do you understand? He’s more of a victim than a—”

“He’s  _ not _ a victim.”

Had Leslie been anyone else than a member of Joseph’s flock, Eli would’ve said something,  _ done _ something to keep Jack from losing his mind. But because Leslie was everything he hated and despised, he turned around and yanked the door open, leaving him to Jack’s cruel devices. Mercy had no place in his mind, not when his friends were being picked off one by one by Jacob. Not when he'd seen Leslie slit his cousin's throat with no hesitation, eyes glued to Jacob, that crazy fucker.

“You’re mine, Les.” Again, hand against his cheek, thumb rubbing over his lips. It sounded awful, disgusting. It didn't have the same impact on Leslie as Jacob's exact same words did. “I love you. You don’t need  _ him, _ you need me and only me, right? You see that, don’t ya?”

“I’m not yours,” Leslie snarled, his voice thick. The situation was a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. There was no Jacob at the end of it, calming him, making him feel better. No lips against his own. No fingers laced with his. “I’m  _ not _ yours,” he repeated, his voice growing louder, and he snapped his head up, even though he couldn’t see anything, flinching away from Jack’s hand. “I’m not yours!” he screamed, fighting against the restraints, blood spurting out of his mouth, raining against Jack's clothes. Drool started dribbling down his chin, long strands of it, victims to gravity. “I’d rather die!” He didn’t care that he was practically foaming at the mouth and that his voice made his head hurt like hell. “I’ll kill you. When Jacob comes to get me, I’ll slit your throat and I’ll watch you bleed! And I'll piss on your rotting corpse!"

It wasn’t the threat that annoyed Jack. It was the ‘when’. He couldn’t stomach the fact that Leslie was so sure that Jacob would come for him, that he said ‘when’, not ‘if’. Well, Jack was sure that Leslie would forget all about that son of bitch soon enough. The conditioning, or brainwashing, or whatever the fuck it was, would wear off. It just had to.

Furious, Jack drove his fist straight into Leslie's face. The impact knocked the chair over, and water splashed on the concrete, flooding the floor. With a long stride, Jack straddled Leslie, wrapping his fingers around his throat. He squeezed, thumbs against the erratic, jumping pulse, teeth bared.

Leslie tried to stay conscious. But it was like trying to hold on to an eel with bare hands, and all that was left was a slimy, sticky feeling on his fingers when he was done fighting and a dreadful calm washed over him. He didn’t know what was waiting for him on the other side, but whatever it was, he had to survive it. There was no alternative.

~***~

Dregs of daylight painted the horizon orange, and an oddly warm gust of air wafted in through the balcony doors, shifting the papers scattered on the office floor. Jacob cradled his head in his hands, eyes prickling. He fought against the wrath nearly reaching its boiling point inside him, nails pressed against his scalp. Deep, long breaths made no difference. He still wanted to rip someone’s head off.

"If you could just—"

"Say 'calm down' one more time and I'll hit you, John." Jacob snapped his head up and glared at his brother, his concern manifesting itself as anger. He tapped his desk with his fingertips, sighing heavily. Trailing his fingers across the map laid out in front of him, he stared at the lines and numbers and letters, seeing nothing of value. There were way too many places in Hope County, too many nooks and crannies to count, and too little time.

“Fine,” John replied with a huff.

“This pisses me off, sitting around, doing nothin’.”

“Joseph told you to wait. So wait. He knows better.”

“Not this again.”

“All I’m saying… Joseph has a point. You should listen to him.”

“Point? ‘Do nothing, Jacob’,” Jacob said with a mocking tone. “‘Sit tight and let  _ God _ handle it’, is that it? ‘John will make sure you don’t do anything stupid’. What’s the fucking point in all of that? ‘If you think running around the county will do you any good, think again.’ Right now, he’s useless.  _ I’m _ the head of security. I  _ know _ when something’s wrong.”

“Jacob… You really  _ should _ listen to him. I think he’s right. Nothing bad happened to Leslie. You really think someone snuck here and snagged him? It’s far more likely that he left. He has plenty of reasons to leave. For example, he—”

“Stop it,” Jacob said, voice tight. “Someone  _ took _ him. I know it. Someone came in here and took him. It just doesn’t happen. It’s not supposed to happen. Some little piece of shit invaded my home and stole something from me. He didn’t leave. He wouldn’t.”

"Are you sure he didn't just run away? You're not the most delightful boyfriend." John drew out his words, rolling his eyes, as if bored. He’d meant it as an insult, trying to coax out some kind of reaction out of his brother. But when Jacob met his eyes, John’s heart dropped. He looked distraught, horrified. Not angry.

"What did you just say?" he asked slowly.

John shifted his weight. "I thought…" he muttered. "Never mind."

"That's what I thought." A tremble shot through his voice.

_ Boyfriend. _ Jacob scoffed. He bit his lip, shaking his head. No way in hell was he in a  _ relationship _ with Leslie. Sure, they slept together,  _ slept _ together, practically lived together… Jacob grunted and jumped up, wiping his shaking hands to his jeans. He didn't have time or patience to sit around pondering the different aspects of their relationship. He could do that later if —  _ when, _ he corrected himself — he’d see Leslie again.

"I gotta do something."

"Joseph explicitly said—"

"John. I'll kick you in the nuts again if I have to."

The Baptist winced, turning slightly away from his brother. He swallowed, worried for his brother. Jacob wasn’t himself; his eyes were hollow, brow tightly knitted, the skin underneath his eyes violet.

“John… I need you to trust me on this.”

"Alright,” John said quietly, nodding. “Okay. Fine. Whatever you need."

"You have my back?" Jacob asked, flicking his eyes from the map to his brother, stomach wound into a tight knot.

"What kind of a question is that?"

"Just answer it."

"Yes, of course I do. What are you gonna do?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest, tilting his head like one of Jacob's Judges, ready for action. He didn’t trust the Herald that his brother was, or his judgment, but he  _ did _ trust his brother. It made no sense, even to himself.

"I'll take a dog and start trackin'. And I need  _ you _ to cover for me. I need you to distract Joseph for as long as you have to."

"Okay. I'll figure out something."

Jacob glanced between his brother and the door, eager to leave. "You sure?"

"Yes. Go. This is an 'I'm sorry' of sorts, and it'll have to do."

A smile flashed across Jacob's face. He grabbed his rifle, made sure it was loaded, checked his pistol, and his knife. John watched as he grabbed a jumper from the backrest of his chair, holding it gently in his hand, as if it was a prized possession, not a dusty article of clothing.

"I'm trusting you," Jacob said, patted John's shoulder, and exited the office.

Night was coming quickly, bringing a heavy sort of darkness with it and filling the air with a tinge of crispness, even though summer was just around the corner. Jacob hurried down the stairs, avoiding looking at anyone. He tried to seem as if nothing was wrong. As if he wasn't worried. As if he wasn't thinking of Leslie's smile, and his eyes, and his hands and the millions of what-ifs swirling in his gut.

What if, what if, what if, again and again, stuck on a loop in his head. He shoved the front doors open, one hand resting against his knife, seeking comfort from its handle and all the little imperfections. And he thought of how he’d dug the knife into Leslie’s skin, leaving his mark upon the soft, pale flesh.

"Ava!" he snarled as he saw a familiar figure trotting across the yard. The Chosen whisked instantly around, brown eyes gleaming as she pulled off her balaclava.

"Yes, sir?" she asked as she walked closer, a large, spitz-type dog following a few feet behind. His black fur was shaggy, his tail tightly curled against his lower back, the tip of it whiter than virgin cotton.

"I need to borrow Jax," Jacob said, nodding toward the dog.

Ava flicked her eyes to Jax, brow furrowing. "Of course. May I ask why?" The dog stared at her, intently listening to every word. He could sense that something was going on.

"I need him to track something…  _ someone _ for me."

"Then I'll come with. He's more efficient that way. How old are the tracks?"

"Less than twenty-four hours. Around eighteen."  _ Eighteen hours and seven minutes, give or take,  _ he thought.

"That'll do. Who are we tracking?"

"A Chosen," Jacob replied, knowing full well that everyone already knew who was missing.

"Leslie's a good guy." Her voice was sullen, angry. Her eyes flashed as she jerked her chin up, bold and brave. “Alright, Jax, we got work to do.” Jax’s ears pricked. “He needs a scent.”

Without saying anything, Jacob handed the jumper over to Ava, flicking his eyes aside as she knelt in front of her dog, scratching him behind his ear. Somehow he couldn’t bear to look at them.

"Okay, Jax. See this? Good job. Got it? C'mon, go get 'im!" she said, rising to her feet, adjusting the strap of her bow. She glanced at Jacob. "Let's wait for a moment."

Jax started to walk in circles, sniffing the air. He drew long, loud breaths, snorting and scoffing. Trotting lightly and nearly silently to the front door of the veteran's center, he quickly made a one-eighty, holding his head high, mouth slightly open.

After making a few more circles, he stopped, sniffed the ground, lifted his head up again, and started toward the road.

"Let's go."

Jacob let Ava lead him, trusting her almost as wholly as he did his brothers. The loose pebbles crunched under their boots as they followed Jax along the road winding away from the veteran's center. Moonlight flickered off of the puddles dotting the road, slivers of silver thrown against their eyes.

Ava, having a desperate need to break the silence, started talking. "Jax'll find him. I'm sure. Unless…" She bit her tongue.

"What?"

"Unless he's not around here anymore."

"He has to be. The bodies of everyone else are always found here, or across in Holland Valley."

"They are?"

Jacob nodded. "Only one hasn't been found. Suppose they threw him into the river and the body floated downstream away from the county." It all sounded so bleak, but Jacob couldn't stop. "If he's found dead, that's good, I guess. Means he most likely didn't talk. Means we got closure." His voice was rough, and tight with worry.  _ Means I got closure. An ending. _

"You think he'll talk?"

"No. Would you?"

Ava chuckled. "Hell no. I've devoted my life to the Father. Leslie's the same."

"You know him?"

"No offense, but we all know each other, sir. All of us Chosen. We get together about once a month." She looked at Jacob, flashing a meek smile. “He's a good guy. Really. One of the best, in my humble opinion.”

Jacob shrugged his shoulders. He'd never asked, or cared, what Leslie used to do before he stole him all for himself. He winced, annoyed how little he actually knew about Leslie's life outside the Project. Not that the Chosen really had a life outside it, but the little time they had off was probably filled with little things, like hobbies and socializing and whatnot. Normal things. Jacob frowned, pushing aside the realization that he had no idea what normal people did with their time. He and Leslie were the same that way; far away from normal.

Imagining Leslie socializing with anyone was a stretch, though. "He's not very social," Jacob grunted, quickening his pace to keep up with Ava.

She laughed quietly, eyes glued to Jax's wagging tail. "Quiet, maybe. He's a hard worker, though. Reserved, difficult to read, but pleasant to work with." She didn't even think about talking in past tense. She tightened her hairband, making sure her ponytail didn't have any stragglers hanging from it. “Kinda makes me wish we’d had more people like him in Iraq.”

The mention of war made Jacob’s chest tight. He hummed as a response, staring at Ava. Her hands were scarred and burned, the skin now thick and rough-looking, just like Jacob’s. Her blonde hair was streaked with silver as moonlight cascaded upon her shoulders. With a sigh, Jacob flicked his eyes away. If he hadn’t touched Leslie, he wouldn’t be here right now. He wouldn’t even care. It was a painful thought. A thought he pushed aside, not willing to address it.

Suddenly Jax stopped, making a few oddly shaped loops. With ears pricked, he ambled away from the road and into the forest, before emerging a few yards from where he'd disappeared into the underbrush. He turned toward the veteran's center, zigzagged the road, and started away from the building again. He trotted along the road, sure and firm in his movements, harboring no doubt or uncertainty.

Jacob was jealous of him. It seemed so effortless. Jax was happy to work, unaware of how dire the situation was. He sighed, gritting his teeth in frustration. There was nothing else to do than walk and wait.

“Whoever took Leslie was someone we know,” Ava suddenly blurted.

“What?”

“I just… started thinking,” she explained and stopped, flicking his eyes to her Herald. “You see… No one saw anything weird, right? No new people, no one sneaking about… Dogs or the Judges saw nothing. Joseph doesn’t think anyone took him.” She stared at Jacob. “It  _ had _ to be someone familiar. Someone we all know. Right?” Even though she was sure, she looked to Jacob for confirmation.

Jacob gritted his teeth. He felt stupid for not realizing it himself. “Shit,” he hissed, fumbling for his radio. “I know who it was.”

~***~

Huddled in the far corner of the dark, empty room, Leslie waited. He listened to the scratchy humming of the AC, tensing with every single odd sound. His skin was sticky and slick with cold sweat, old vomit, and dry blood, hair tangled and dirty. His cheek was pressed against the concrete floor, stuck to something cold and slimy. A dull pain throbbed inside his nose, keeping the same rhythm as his heart.

In the darkness, it was impossible to say how much time had passed. No one came to see him, to talk to him, to bring him food or water. His throat was now dry and hoarse from hurling curses at the walls, lungs burning with every breath.

Trying to conserve his energy, which was already pretty much depleted, Leslie crawled across the floor, located the door, and tried it. He'd done it probably hundreds of times; hands gliding against the cold surface, pushing, pulling from the edges, nails breaking under the pressure. Then fists banged against it, accompanied by frustrated, shrill screams which only worsened the pain in his throat.

The door was of course locked. And it would remain locked until… Yes, until what? Until the self-appointed God would return?

No one else than Jack knew where he was. Being alone, so utterly alone was mind-numbingly stressful. He started to wish Jack would come to him. To do whatever the hell he wanted, just so that he wouldn't be so alone. Being tortured started to seem like heaven compared to the isolation.

Leslie was so hungry and thirsty that his stomach was beginning to expel its scarce contents without a warning. A feverish shiver would pass through him every time he threw up, making cold sweat rise to his skin. He was dying. Slowly, but surely. His fingers and toes were cold and numb, his blood pooled around his organs to shield them from the cold.

He knew how easy it would be to just let go and float away. Yes, he could rest, rest forever, if he wanted to. Just sleep all his worries away. How easy it would be to push the soldier aside and just… let go. Maybe this had been his purpose all along. To die alone, lying in a dry puddle of his own blood and vomit, like he’d done numerous times before. This time, though, he was sure that there was no escape. No one to pull him up to his feet. Not even Jacob could help him anymore.

Drawing raspy breaths, Leslie curled up into a ball in the corner once again. He closed his prickling eyes as he wrapped his arms around his shivering body. Head resting on the cold floor, he pondered dangerous what-ifs. He groaned, refusing to think about them. But one thought slipped into the forefront of his mind.

What if Jacob wasn’t even looking for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Leave a kudos and/or a comment if you have the time.


End file.
